


Under the Seams

by darlingred1



Series: Red [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Fingerfucking, Needles, Painplay, Pegging, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Praise Kink, Riding Crops, S&M, Subdrop, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingred1/pseuds/darlingred1
Summary: Loki spread his arms, smirking. “I put myself in your no doubt capable hands. If you ask it of me,” he continued more softly, “I guarantee there will be…very little I won’t allow.”Hell of an offer, Natasha thought. It would be sheer idiocy to take him up on it, though.





	1. Chapter 1

She hated the blonde.

Unfortunately, it was necessary. Her life, such that it was, had become little more than a self-appointed mission to remain permanently off the radar and to keep moving. Red hair was memorable; it was characteristic of most of her aliases. Natasha could not have red hair any longer.

Now she had blonde. Sometimes glasses as well, a dramatically contoured face, an ever-changing accent.

She kept moving. Belarus was windy, Argentina warm, Greece wet.

It was foggy in Brussels. She got brunch at a trendy little café downtown. The place was filled mostly with tourists, half shouting to be heard over the too-loud jazz being piped through the speakers. No one paid Natasha the slightest attention as she huddled in the far corner, still bundled in her coat, and picked at her pastry, traced the rim of her coffee cup with one finger.

She’d been in Belgium barely two days, yet it was time to move on. She could feel it, the restlessness in her marrow beginning, instinct nipping at her heels for attention. Her instinct led her astray on occasion, true, but she trusted it. For a time, it had been all she’d had. Mostly, anyway.

Natasha tipped her chin up and drank deeply of her coffee. Still hot, it burned its way down her throat. She closed her eyes, swallowing, and opened them again.

A movement through the shop’s front window drew her attention. Or, rather, a lack of movement. After all, people had been passing on the pavement outside the entire time Natasha had been here, going about their days, so it was the figure standing still who piqued her interest.

For good reason. Even in an ordinary black knee-length coat, with none of the leather or green or gleaming gold Natasha had last seen him in, she recognized Loki immediately. His hands in his coat pockets, his face blank, he caught her gaze through the glass.

Her pulse sounded like a war drum in her ears, although she allowed nothing to show in her expression. She had two Glocks on her, two throwing knives. But without backup, surrounded by civilians, against a god from legend who was supposedly dead…

Loki inclined his head in a barely perceptible nod, and walked away.

Natasha moved with as much haste as possible without calling attention to herself, leaving her pastry and coffee behind as she ducked out of the café and headed after Loki.

But he’d already disappeared. She walked nearly ten blocks, peering into every window and alley she passed, and didn’t find him anywhere.

 

* * *

 

That evening, the news hit the internet. An alien vessel over Norway, video footage of Thor with short hair and an eyepatch swearing peaceful intentions.

By morning, more details had emerged. Asgard destroyed, an entire population adrift and grieving. An assortment of photos went viral on social media, including one of Bruce Banner staring grimly into the distance.

Natasha was surprised by the onslaught of…something that struck her at the sight. She’d accepted him as dead a long, long time ago, had come to peace with all of the hopes that had been lost when he’d disappeared.

“Still lost,” she murmured, thrusting her phone—and Bruce’s frozen image on the screen—to the table beside her hotel bed. “You know that.”

She did. It wasn’t worth dwelling on, so she didn’t allow herself to.

Instead, she pondered the fact that more than one person she’d thought dead apparently wasn’t.

She scrutinized all the news stories, the photographs, but found no hint nor mention of Loki. Yet she wasn’t stupid enough to think it was only coincidence that all of Asgard—those who were left, anyway—showed up at the same time that Loki reappeared.

_And out of all the people on Earth to show himself to, he chose me._

What the hell did she do with that?

 

* * *

 

Nothing, Natasha decided eventually. She did nothing.

She traded her reasonably nice hotel in Brussels for a cheap room in Chaumont, then changed her mind and headed for a safe house a few miles outside Munich.

She went into town and shopped for groceries with only maybe a quarter of her mind on what she was tossing into her hand basket. She thought mostly about Norway and the Asgardian refugees. Bruce and Thor. Tony no doubt making his way there at this moment, if he hadn’t already arrived. Her last conversation with Steve, only a few days ago, him not-so-subtly suggesting she join him again in Wakanda.

“You’ve grown careless.”

Natasha dropped the basket and went for her knives, even before the full reality of the situation had sunk in. She stopped herself from drawing them just in time, reminding herself of the civilians around her, although she didn’t relinquish her grasp on their handles. She turned.

Loki smirked at her. He wore an all-black suit, and with his pale skin and shoulder-length black hair, he made an almost humorously grim impression. Not that Natasha felt much inclined to laugh.

“I must say I’m disappointed,” he said. Despite his words, his grin only widened. “The spider has lost her bite so easily.”

In her peripheral vision, Natasha spied people standing nearby, watching them. Curious, confused. So much for remaining under the radar. After a quick risk analysis—Loki’s body language was smug, intimidating, but not overtly threatening, no weapons in sight—she allowed her hands to fall from the knives hidden in her coat.

“Congratulations,” she told him. “Not many people can sneak up on me.”

He gave no indication that he caught the reference, yet Natasha somehow felt certain that he did. Breaking eye contact, she bent to pick up her basket. At least nothing had spilled or broken. That would make it easier to exit this little scene without calling further attention to herself.

When she straightened again, his grin had dropped, his eyes narrowed. Baffled, maybe even insulted, that she had deliberately let her guard down in front of him—exactly as she’d planned.

But unlike what she’d expected, he didn’t follow when she spun on her heels and walked casually down the aisle. And when she doubled back, she found him gone, and the other shoppers paying her no mind as they went about their business.

 _Huh_ , she thought. _That’s…something._

 

* * *

 

She went back to Munich the next day and spent most of the afternoon wandering. Marienplatz to start with, and then following the streets branching off from it. Weinstraße, Dienerstraße, Kaufingerstraße. Eventually, she found a coffee shop and went inside.

The place was bright and airy, quieter than the café in Brussels, the soft piano music barely audible over the murmur of conversation. She bought a cup of coffee and carried it to a two-person table near the back. She nearly took the chair facing the entrance, but changed her mind and sat facing the back wall instead.

At a disadvantage, a position of vulnerability, should someone pass by the window and see her inside.

She was ready, this time. Listening for the shop door to open and for footsteps to approach, passing by the counter and barista completely.

Loki slipped without hesitation into the chair opposite her. Dressed in the same all-black outfit as he’d worn in the grocery store, he fixed his impassive gaze on her and folded his hands on the small table between them. As though she’d invited him here, as though he was simply waiting for something he was owed.

Natasha’s lip wanted to curl in distaste, but she only lifted her cup and sipped. The coffee was cold now. She’d been waiting a long time.

“Why are you stalking me?” she said when she’d swallowed.

He smiled. It was sharp, mocking enough that her fingers itched for her knives. “Why are you encouraging it?”

 _Because that’s what I do when people try to toy with me_ , she thought. _I toy back._

Remembering how he’d reacted when she’d let her guard down at the store, Natasha took a long, deep drink of her cold coffee and let her gaze wander around the café. Two women to her left with their heads bent, engaged in a passionate murmured discussion. A man on his laptop to her right, muffled bass beats coming from his headphones. A child squealing excitedly behind her.

No one paid their table any attention. She wondered if Loki was doing something to ensure that.

“Does Thor know you’re here?”

She turned back to Loki. His smile had dropped, and he was peering at her as though he could determine her intentions simply by staring hard enough.

_Good luck._

“Considering I arrived on his ship,” said Loki, “yes, Agent Romanov, he knows that I am here.” His expression twisted into an over-exaggeration of chagrin. “Ah, but you aren’t an agent any longer, are you? _Earth’s mightiest heroes_ are no more, I hear.”

Natasha shrugged. He’d meant it as a barb, but she’d be damned before she admitted that it had nearly found its mark. “We’re going through a rough patch. Although…with you here, maybe we could bury the hatchet. Reunite for a common goal.”

His lips curved into another smirk, just as unpleasant and derisive as the first. “Is that why the widow has lost her bite? Why you’ve not lifted a finger to so much as threaten me? Because you’ve lost your _friends_?”

“I’m not going to _bite_ in the middle of a café full of civilians,” she said dryly. “That’s not how I operate.”

Loki leaned in, and Natasha stopped herself from scooting backward. “So if I came to you elsewhere…away from others…”

She lifted one shoulder, looking away as she raised her coffee again. “We’ll see.”

Then he was gone, blinking out of existence like he’d never been there. Natasha spun in her chair, scanning the shop, but the other patrons were still immersed in their own conversations, their own worlds. A few paused to shoot her puzzled looks, so she turned hastily back around. After a moment, she pulled out her phone.

She’d missed a text alert eleven minutes ago, according to the screen. From Steve.

_You following any of the news?_

He meant the Asgard refugees, she assumed, and answered: _A little. I have other things to worry about right now._

He responded within a minute. _Do you need help?_

Did she? She had Loki following her through multiple European cities, baiting her, basically admitting he wanted to draw her into some sort of confrontation. If worse came to worst, she had no doubt he could best her. He had magic, godlike abilities, centuries of tricks up his sleeves. If it was a true, no-holds-barred fight he was after, she would lose without backup. No question.

 _No_ , she said. _I can handle it_.

 

* * *

 

Her safe house was compromised. She’d be an idiot to think it was anything but, given the ease with which Loki kept finding her, not to mention what he’d said at the café.

Still, she returned to it that evening. Unlocked the front door calmly and slowly, took one gun in hand and readied it.

He wouldn’t attack her, she didn’t think. That wasn’t Loki’s style, hiding out in someone’s dark, silent house awaiting battle. It wasn’t dramatic enough, grand enough. Although what he did want from her…she hadn’t worked that out yet.

Glock in hand, she nudged the door open and slunk inside.

The lights were off. There were no signs that the place was anything but empty, but Natasha knew better. Her instincts said something wasn’t right, and she trusted her instincts. Silently, she stripped off her outer coat and hat. Less layers to slow her down. Then she crept through the kitchen, the living room, the master bedroom.

A man was stretched across the bed, his legs together, his hands folded and resting on his abdomen. The curtains in the room had been drawn back since she’d left earlier, and the light from the setting sun clearly illuminated the man’s features. His eyes were closed, but his thin lips twitched at the corners.

Natasha judged the threat level low enough to release one hand from her gun and flip the light switch.

“Took you long enough,” Loki said.

She adjusted her aim. She wasn’t certain what a bullet to the forehead would do to a god, but she wouldn’t hesitate to test it.

“Get up.”

He squinted open his eyes and arched a brow, but he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, facing her. He was dressed in leather, black and deep green with gold trim and plating. Very Asgardian and very heavy-looking, not identical to the armor he’d worn during the incident in New York but similar.

“No great loss,” he said, gesturing to the mattress as though Natasha didn’t have a gun trained on his head. “I can’t imagine how you sleep here. It smells like a farm.”

“Well, it _was_ a farmhouse.” Albeit it hadn’t been one for a long time now. “How did you find me?”

Loki straightened the collar of his surcoat, then brushed down the sleeves like he’d dirtied himself by lying in her bed. Unfortunately, Natasha had tired of the spoiled prince act years ago. She stepped forward, pointedly tightening her finger on the trigger.

That got his attention. With a sneer, he stood and spread his arms wide. “By all means. Take a shot if it will make you feel better.”

 _Always games with you, isn’t it?_ Well, Natasha wasn’t going to play. She let her arms fall to her side, the gun still clasped loosely in one hand. Loki seemed floored by the movement, even more so than when she’d refused to play her part in his little games earlier.

Oddly pleased by the reaction, Natasha went a step further and tucked the gun back in her jacket. Loki’s shoulders actually jerked at that, his eyes going wide, something like wariness and doubt crossing his expression.

It wasn’t a bad look on him, all things considered.

“What are you doing?” he snapped. “Don’t you know what I’m capable of?”

Natasha shrugged, looking away. “Sure. But you’re not exactly presenting yourself as a threat right now, so…”

When he struck, she was ready for him. Allowing him to back her against the wall and loom over her, growling like a rabid beast, his knives drawn. It put him close enough to knee, then jab, and he stumbled half a step backward. She braced herself against the wall, kicked with both legs, and his knives clattered out of his grip and skid across the wooden floor.

He fell to one knee, and then her own knife was out. She pressed it against his neck, swung her leg around, and swept both feet out from under him. He went down with a pained sound, and she followed, keeping the knife against his throat and pinning him with her body.

Soon enough, the spike of adrenaline began to dull, and she realized what had happened.

Too easy.

“You’re not even trying,” she spat.

His eyebrows lifted. “Aren’t I?”

He was panting, his heavy breath warm on Natasha’s face. It didn’t smell like anything, or at least nothing she could identify.

“No,” she said, “you’re not.”

One arm rose, twitching barely an inch off the ground. She reacted without thinking, jamming one elbow into his throat and twirling the knife in her other hand, then bringing it down, stabbing the blade through Loki’s left palm, staking him to the floor.

She thought his surprise—his open-mouthed cry, his owl-wide eyes—was genuine, tinged with real horror.

 _Go ahead_ , she thought viciously. _Try me._

He didn’t. He simply swallowed, his throat bobbing against her arm. “Fine,” he croaked. “You win.”

“No. You lose.”

She left the knife where it was but lessened the pressure on his throat just slightly. He bared his teeth and stared at her through narrowed eyes. They were green, she noticed. Not even close to the shade of his armor, but somehow that’s what they brought to mind. The armor he was bleeding on now, albeit only from one hand.

“Why are you here?” Natasha demanded.

Loki said nothing, didn’t even move beneath her.

She tried another angle. “Thor brought you here. So why aren’t you still with him? Like everyone else who arrived on that ship.”

He jerked, his expression twisting. Because she’d brought up Thor? Because she’d implied he was like everyone else?

“We thought my presence would be somewhat more…offensive, than his.”

 _Well, you’re not wrong._ “So rather than risk the wrath of Earth, you decided to hunt down someone you pissed off quite badly?”

His face went blank and then brightened until he seemed almost gleeful at the question. “Is that what I did? I _pissed you off_? How? Would you seek retribution against me for my considerable crimes? For the innocents I killed? Or for your Barton? How is his mind, incidentally? Is he—”

 _Hit him_ , said Natasha’s instinct, and so she did. Left the knife embedded in Loki’s palm but loosened her grip on it, drew back her arm, and struck him across the face. His head snapped to the side, his pale cheek reddening. He hissed, his eyelids squeezing shut, but only for a moment. While her hand was still smarting from the blow, Loki swiveled his head back and gazed up at her, eyes half-lidded, something in his expression not entirely unlike…lust?

_No._

Natasha wrenched back the arm digging into his neck, and he promptly tipped his chin higher, baring the full curve of his throat and looking at her through his lashes. Distinctly, purposely flirtatious.

“You—” She shook her head, taken so aback she felt almost ill with it. “You’re not here to threaten me or fight me. You’re here because I’m a woman. A…what was it, _mewling quim_ , who you think you can—”

“It’s not just women I have interest in.” He was smirking now, pleased as punch with her response, which just pissed her off even more.

_Interest. Jesus._

She stood, grabbing the knife handle and taking it with her. He didn’t so much as grunt as the blade slid free.

“Get out. Now.”

Loki propped himself on his elbows, looking more triumphant by the second. “Or what?”

“Or I call Thor.” She knew instantly that it was the right call. He blanched, the satisfaction draining out of him as fast as blood surged from his palm. “Tell him that you’re making a mess for yourself, again, and that he needs to come fetch you for your own good.”

He was gone before she’d finished, his form glimmering gold half a second before it disappeared.

Despite herself, she felt a twinge of envy. Her life would be so much easier if she could get the hell out of a situation that quickly.

 

* * *

 

Natasha didn’t even bother cleaning up the blood before she left. Maybe by the time she returned to this particular safe house, her encounter with Loki would be nothing more than an amusing memory.

She headed south, meaning to cross the Mediterranean into Africa, gravitating toward Wakanda, but found herself pausing in Sicily, which was rainy but warmer than Munich. She got a room in a cheap, out-of-the-way hotel in the Sicilian hills and spent nearly a week there. Longer than she should’ve lingered, probably, but she liked the view, the quiet. There was a pizzeria within walking distance, and an espresso bar, gastropub, and shopping center not much farther.

It should’ve been easy, to pretend she was like any of the other residents in her hotel. Vacationing Italians, relishing the reprieve from their comfortable lives.

But she never quite managed. She felt restless, hollow. She almost wished she’d taken Loki up on his almost-offer, more to see what he’d do than anything…which somehow called to mind the thought of her ledger. Red gushing like Loki’s blood on her floor.

How had she ever imagined that she could just run away, leave everything behind?

She woke one late morning to find her roots were beginning to grow in, a shock of red topping her bleached blonde. She threw on a sweatshirt, flipped the hood up, and walked to the pizzeria for lunch. Hair dye after, then an evening spent figuring out her next step.

At the restaurant, she ordered a glass of Etna Rosato on a whim and watched the other patrons from her table near the entrance. Couples, mostly. A few families. A toddler clinging to his mother’s phone, eyes glued to the screen.

There was movement in her periphery, a gleam of gold and then simply a shadow that was already becoming familiar to her. With a sigh, Natasha cocked her head, watching Loki approach her table and slide into the seat opposite her. He wore that same black suit, but he looked more polished, his hair slicked neatly back.

“I thought we were done,” Natasha said.

He smiled. One eye squinted, as though he’d nearly winked but perhaps thought better of it. “Ah, we’re not done until I say so.”

The waiter approached, causing Natasha to bite her tongue for the moment. Loki beamed at him and ordered, in flawless Italian, “ _a glass of what the lady is having_.” When they were alone again, Loki’s friendly façade melted, and he cast a severe glance from her head to where her arms were folded on the table.

“You are growing lazy.”

Natasha knew what she looked like, in her ratty sweatshirt with the hood still up, but was far from insulted. “I’m taking a break.”

“You’ve dulled, not unlike a neglected blade. The woman I met before never would have let me sneak up on her, nor would she have allowed me to escape not once but four times.”

 _Escape from what?_ But she didn’t ask. He wasn’t wrong, not really. She was different, some of her edges not softened, exactly, but chipped into a shape that was less sharp. To him it might’ve looked like weakness, although she knew better.

The waiter returned and set a glass of rosé in front of Loki, then left again.

“If you need a reminder…” Loki left the rest of the sentence unfinished, taking a sip. He didn’t take his eyes from Natasha’s, and whatever he thought of the wine, his face revealed nothing.

“You’ll let me stab you again?”

The wound was gone, Natasha noticed. As she was staring at him, realizing that, he held up his hand and turned it from one side to the other, showing off the smooth, unblemished skin.

“I could have stalled the healing,” he said. “Should I have? It’s a simple enough spell. If you’d prefer, I’ll do so next time.”

“There’s not going to be a next time. I’m not going to play your games, Loki.”

His answering grin was sharp, vaguely sharklike although he bared none of his teeth. “But you already are.”

Natasha’s margherita pizza arrived then, set on a silver stand between them by the waiter. Loki continued grinning at her over it, seeming even more wickedly pleased when she only stared back coolly. When the waiter left again, Loki broke the eye contact and helped himself to a slice of her pizza.

It rankled, poking the deeply territorial parts of her personality, but she swallowed her annoyance. He would be too amused by it.

“Is it Asgard?” she asked instead. “Is that why you were so…happy, let’s say, that I hit you, punished you?”

“It isn’t punishment I seek.”

“Then what?”

There was a surreal quality to watching a feared god take a bite of pizza, a string of steaming cheese stretching from his mouth. If she told someone about this—Clint, Steve, Sam—they’d never believe her.

When it was clear he wasn’t going to respond, Natasha said, “So you’re not the reason Asgard is no more? None of the news reports have been very specific about what exactly happened there.”

He seemed amused by the question. “No. I saved its people, in fact.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“You’re welcome to _call Thor_.” His tone was vicious, and this time his smile had teeth. “Ask him yourself.”

She wondered if Thor really knew that Loki had landed on Earth with him. And, if Loki had been telling the truth about that, if it was a sign that Thor had forgiven him—for the Chitauri invasion, for whatever he’d done to make Thor think him dead. If Thor was really naïve and trusting enough to have not only brought Loki to Earth but then let him wander off and do what he pleased.

_You’re the one having lunch with him. What does that say about you?_

“Would you be more willing if I asked you to punish me?” Loki asked, his voice soft and alarmingly inviting. “Shall I tell you that I’ve been terribly, terribly bad and I need you to make me pay for it?”

Natasha shook her head. “I don’t play those kind of games.”

“Of course you do.” If Loki’s voice had been inviting before, his smile now was downright seductive, and he leaned forward as though imparting a secret. “You lie and hide, and like molten steel, you fit yourself into every crack you come upon. Mold yourself to whatever shape suits you best. Whatever allows you to get what you desire.”

She didn’t have to pretend to be bored by the accusation. “Sounds like you’re just describing yourself, if you ask me.”

That earned her a huff of laughter, and he raised his wineglass in a silent toast.

It reminded her where they were, that he’d already eaten half of her pizza while she’d been sitting here. She took a slice for herself.

“So,” Loki said, “what sort of games will you admit to playing, Natasha?”

A shiver swept down her body, lingering low in her abdomen. Had she ever heard him say her name before? She didn’t think so. “Don’t call me that.”

“What shall I call you, then? Black Widow? Tsarina? Oktober? _Tasha_?” He chuckled at her glare. “So many identities… Do you even know who you are any longer?”

“Do you?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh and sat back. “I could always seek the services of someone else, I suppose. There was a young woman, in fact… Maximoff? One of your former teammates, I believe, although unfortunately not one with whom I am acquainted. Easy enough to fix that, of course.”

Natasha shoved aside her plate, and on it her untouched pizza slice, her appetite gone. “So that’s actually it, is it? Really? _That’s_ why you’re following me? And what do you want, exactly? Kinky sex? Beatings, whips, chains, knives? You call me ‘Daddy,’ and I call you ‘boy’ and have you sit on my silicone cock?”

She’d hoped to offend him, or least surprise him, but Loki only tipped his head to one side and looked—of all things—intrigued. “Do you have a silicone cock?”

With a sigh, Natasha reached for her wineglass and took a drink. She wished she’d thought to order a glass of water too. “Not with me,” she admitted. Most of her toys and the like were in America, a spare apartment in West Chelsea.

“Pity. Well, regardless.” Loki spread his arms, smirking. “I put myself in your no doubt capable hands. If you ask it of me,” he continued more softly, “I guarantee there will be…very little I won’t allow.”

 _Hell of an offer_ , Natasha thought. It would be sheer idiocy to take him up on it, though. Even if it did make her mind start whirling in a way it hadn’t in a while.

What ‘very little’ limits did Loki have? What sort of a sub was he? Did he cry, or did he suffer stubbornly in silence? Maybe he bit back. Maybe he cowered and thanked his tormentor for the freedom of it.

If nothing else, she figured the experience might give her insight into his plans for his time on Earth.

“All right,” she said eventually. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

* * *

 

She eschewed hair dye for the time being, because the idea of Loki trailing her through the store and watching her pick out a shade seemed even more absurd than what she had decided to do instead.

She led him to her hotel room and, after closing the door behind them, removed her hoodie and tossed it on the dresser, leaving her dressed in dark-wash jeans and a plain white long-sleeved shirt.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Loki said. He was scrutinizing her hair.

As if she needed the reminder. “Fortunately, I didn’t ask you for beauty advice.”

 _Now what?_ Natasha thought. Did she kiss him? Ask him his preferences, tell him hers?

Loki appeared equally unsure, shifting his weight and looking around the room like an uncomfortable guest at a party.

Then he flicked his gaze to her and said, “I could attack you if that would be easier.”

_Or I could attack you._

She did just that, lunging and pinning him to the wall with her hand at his throat. Her knee went between his legs, nowhere near his groin, but he moaned and rocked his hips like it had. The reaction startled her enough that she was unprepared for him to suddenly bare his teeth in a snarl and fight back.

It wasn’t quite a fight, though. If it were, she would have used her weapons to secure the upper hand, just like he’d probably use magic to do the same for himself. But it was brutal. Loki’s bottom lip split in the center, smearing blood on her knuckles, and her hip, biceps, and gut smarted from his strikes.

Eventually, a knock at the door jerked them apart, and a voice called in nervous Italian. “ _Is everything all right in there?_ ”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Natasha called back. “ _Just practicing some Krav Maga. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll keep it down._ ”

She didn’t take her eyes from Loki, who took a few steps backward until he could fall back on the bed. His expression made her shudder, intense and dangerous and daring her to come finish what she’d started. When the footsteps in the hallway faded, she followed him and crawled up the mattress until her hands were braced on either side of his calves.

“Get undressed,” she told him.

He grinned, and a bit of blood dripped from his cut lip to his chin. “Make me.”

Especially bold words considering he didn’t even struggle when she straddled his thighs and tore open his suit jacket, then the shirt underneath, and wrestled them off. The tie she left on—a convenient grip—before she moved on to his pants, giving them even rougher treatment. She heard a seam rip and inadvertently nicked Loki’s thigh with her nail, which made him jerk.

Finally, he lay naked under her, gazing up smugly like he expected to be praised for his beauty. And he was beautiful. Lean and trimmed. His skin was flawless, not so much as a freckle in sight, although something about it struck her as wrong. She was willing to bet he had scars he kept hidden under his magic.

Natasha bent over, lowering her head to his. He arched his neck toward her, lips parting like he anticipated—wanted—a kiss. Instead, she closed her teeth around the wound on his bottom lip and bit, tugging.

Blood oozed onto her tongue. If there was anything alien or godlike about it, she couldn’t taste it. It was metallic, a little salty.

Hissing, he grasped her shoulders and tried to shove her away, but with her teeth firmly embedded in his flesh, not to mention her fingers around his tie, he only succeeded in hurting himself more, grunting in pain. And only when he subsided, relaxing his grip and letting her do what she would, did she let go and draw back.

He stared up at her, green eyes glittering, like he was furious. It might’ve given her pause, except some part of her recognized it as a challenge.

Fine. Natasha was very, very good at responding to challenges.

She sat up and scooted back until she was squatting between his knees. Immediately, the fury was gone, replaced with something like astonishment, and he reached for her.

“What—”

She slapped his hand and then, when he wrenched it away, stretched long so she could smack his cheek. Not quite as hard as she could, but not gently either.

“Stay still,” she said. “I want to examine what I have to work with.”

His lip still bloody and swollen, his cheek flushing red, he lay back and let her look.

Pale, smooth skin. Small, flat nipples. She flipped his tie out of the way and then amused herself by scratching a Y incision on his chest, except she went deliberately wide so she could scrape her nails over his nipples. He gave a full-body twitch, his shoulders lifting off the mattress as though he wanted to curl up defensively.

“Ticklish?”

Loki scowled, watching the red lines form on his chest. “No.”

 _Sensitive_ , Natasha decided. She scratched again, darkening the Y, and trailed her fingers down to his hips, then up his sides. He squirmed; his arms shot up, reaching to grab her wrists. The move was comically artless, probably reflexive, and so it was easy to evade. She pinned his hands on the bed to either side of his head while she bent and sank her teeth into the skin around his left nipple.

Loki howled—so much more loud and tortured than she was expecting—and when his lower body shifted, Natasha prepared for a kick. Instead, he wrapped his legs around her, crossed his ankles in the small of her back. Caging her, urging her on.

She didn’t like what that did to her. How it made her brain start to go hazy, how it shot a pulse of sensation straight through her cunt.

She disengaged and shoved away, forcing his legs to let go, and settled between them to admire her handiwork. The bright red ring around his nipple, vivid teeth marks in the flesh. Loki’s slick, glossy hair was mussed now, his eyes closed. He was biting his lower lip, getting blood on his front teeth.

“That thing’s never going to clot if you keep doing that,” Natasha said, but he didn’t seem to care.

She scooted back a few inches, turning her attention lower. Loki’s cock was hard, of average length but thick. She bypassed it for the moment, although she did note there wasn’t so much as a hint of pubic hair. Was it natural, purposely removed, part of whatever illusion she suspected he had put on his skin? She didn’t know. Didn’t care all that much, actually.

There was hair on his legs, though, albeit not as dark or thick as she might’ve guessed based on the hair on his head. She brushed her palms over it, making him shiver, before she cupped his outer thighs and lifted, maneuvering him until his knees were bent almost to his chest, exposing his asshole.

No hair there either. Nothing to hide the little wrinkled muscle, which actually twitched as she looked at it.

“Do you ever let people touch you here?”

When she glanced up to his face, his expression was haughty, disdainful. His flushed cheeks—the one she’d slapped only slightly darker than the other—gave him away, though. “On occasion.”

Natasha suspected that translated to something like _As often as I can, but it’s still never enough_. She spared a thought to giving him a taste of her fingers, but she didn’t have any gloves on her and didn’t want it badly enough to go without.

She teased a little, though. Traced the sensitive skin around Loki’s asshole with two fingertips and relished his breathy “haaa,” how he nudged his legs farther apart. The reaction sent another pulse through her cunt, stronger this time. She was getting wet.

“Maybe next time,” she told him, and drew his legs back down.

Every line on his face screamed disappointment, which made her smile.

“Any requests for what I do instead?”

He rose to his elbows, gazing down at her with that arrogant expression back in place. Pity. She liked the other one better. “Do you think you can make me beg?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. She licked her palm and finally closed her fingers around his dick. “Can I?”

It throbbed in her grasp, nearly as good as begging as far as she was concerned. Nearly.

She stroked him slowly, keeping her grip loose, so loose she barely touched him. Her intentions were more obvious than she usually preferred being, in sex or otherwise, but Loki’s frustrated groan, how he fell back to the bed and even pounded the mattress with both fists, made the lack of subtlety worth it.

“I did not,” he spat to the ceiling, his thighs trembling as she brushed the tip of his cock just barely with her thumb, “come to be _teased_.”

With her free hand, Natasha slapped one testicle. Not nearly as hard as she wanted to, but Loki yelped and wrenched like she’d put all her strength into the blow, even trying to clamp his legs together and shove her away with his knees.

She flicked the base of his dick gently, and again he jolted and quaked like a plucked string, wailing loud enough that people in the neighboring rooms almost certainly heard.

 _Definitely sensitive_.

“No?” she said. “Guess you should’ve been more specific about that.”

For the first time then, she thought about the fact that they’d established no rules, no precautions, no safe words. Of course, he could’ve stopped her if he’d wanted, or could at least disappear like he’d done before, but…

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, just in case.

He wasn’t looking at her, still staring up at the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes were closed; she couldn’t quite tell, with the way his chin was tipped up, showing off the black tie still wrapped around his pale throat but little else. But he jerked his head into a definite shake.

“Good,” Natasha murmured, and was surprised to realize she meant it. She didn’t want to stop, not yet.

When she stroked his cock again, that same slow, barely there touch as before, Loki covered his face with his hands and sobbed. His chest heaved with the sound, drawing Natasha’s attention to the still-pink scratches and the bruising bite mark.

 _Come on_ , she thought. _Give in._

Every upward sweep of her fingers brought a fresh dribble of precome from his dick, and his moans grew more and more pained, desperate—then eventually muffled, and she realized he was biting one of his hands. His legs went from perpetually shaking to weak, aborted kicks, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

She didn’t think there was any possible way he could come from this, which was why she was floored when his cock twitched suddenly and sent a thick spurt of semen over her knuckles. Immediately, she snatched her hand away, ruining the orgasm.

“No!” Loki shrieked, and nearly jackknifed at the waist before Natasha caught his arms and held him down, hovering over him—keeping herself far away from his groin—as he thrashed, his eyes wild. “No,” he said again, more softly, pained, and then simply dropped his head back to the mattress and whimpered with each resigned, useless thrust of his hips as he continued to come.

“Shh,” Natasha said, surprised by how gentle, how caring she sounded. “Let it happen. That’s it.”

Loki calmed quickly, going limp and quiet, blinking up at her like he didn’t quite know what to do—with her or himself.

When his chest stopped heaving and his trembling limbs stilled, Natasha let go and climbed off, watching him warily. Just like they hadn’t talked about limits or safe words, neither had they talked about aftercare. Would he get upset and want a cuddle? Would he roll over and go to sleep?

She wanted him to grab his clothes and leave, which she recognized was a bit shitty. Not exactly responsible Domme-like behavior. Then again, she’d never claimed to be a responsible Domme. Not to him, anyway.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and sat up, bending his knees and bringing them almost protectively close to his chest, and in the process hiding the spatters of come on his groin.

“All right?” she ventured to ask.

He licked his lips. “You… Your turn now, I think. Yes?”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. It was so far beyond what she’d expected. “No. I’m not really in the mood.”

It wasn’t quite a lie. She was turned on, her cunt aching and probably making a mess of her panties, but it was the sort of thing she preferred to take care of herself while Loki was far, far away.

He seemed first alarmed by her response, then furious. “I see.” Jaw clenching, he made a sharp downward gesture with one hand and was promptly clothed again. He stood, straightening his tie, flicking away invisible lint from his jacket. “In that case, I won’t linger.”

A golden shimmer, and then he was gone, not leaving so much as a wrinkle on the bed where he’d lain.

 _Well_ , Natasha thought, _I guess that’s that._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

She didn’t expect to see him again. Not in the same context, anyway. Maybe in a battle, a life-or-death situation, but not joining her for meals, following her home for kinky sex, or anything like that.

And that was fine. Welcome, even. They’d gotten it—whatever it had been—out of their systems; now they could move on. She still didn’t know what he was doing on Earth, but that was fine too. It had been a long shot anyway.

Natasha reached out to a few old contacts and eventually found herself in Bulgaria, flirting with businessmen, gathering information. The mission was worse than child’s play, the sort of thing that wouldn’t have even challenged her at age eight, but it was something. An opportunity to save a few burning bridges, to build a new network and reputation.

She called herself Dominique and fashioned a commanding, seductive persona. She wore glasses, leather, and boots; she smiled little and never lowered her eyes.

She left a dinner party one night—dull but informative—and became instantly aware that she was being followed. Not looking behind her, playing ignorant, she decided to refuse a cab ride and instead walked through Sofia, favoring low-traffic side streets and occasionally ducking into poorly lit alleys. Inviting a confrontation, an attempted ambush.

But after only a few minutes, she got bored of the sham and pulled her cell from her black leather handbag, opened the camera app, and pretended to check her hair.

Then she lowered her phone with a sigh and turned.

Loki wore the same damn all-black suit as before, and he took his sweet time closing the distance between them, sauntering like he wasn’t tailing her at all but was just out for a casual stroll.

“Do you have any other clothes?” Natasha wondered.

He looked down at himself, then up and down the street, and when he turned back to her, suddenly he was wearing a heavy black coat that was very similar to the one he’d been wearing in the grocery store in Munich, except this one had a thick fur collar.

That done, he arched an eyebrow as though to say _Happy?_

“I guess it’s something,” she muttered, then did the same glance-around that he had done. No one was paying them attention, and the shivery, spider-leg-crawl down her spine that said she was being followed was gone. “What do you want, Loki?”

His smile was a mockery of polite supplication. “I thought I might avail myself of your…services, again. Assuming you have no objections, of course.”

She didn’t let on that she was surprised. She shouldn’t have been, she knew. He’d tracked her down again—what else could he possibly want but what he’d already goaded her into providing? But she’d really thought they were done. Whatever Loki’s issues, he wasn’t the type to crawl back to someone who had offended him.

It occurred to her, for the first time, how badly he must want this. And what it might have meant that he wanted it so badly. Badly enough that he’d come to her in the first place, that he was coming back now only a week and a half after she’d last seen him.

Considering, she gathered her coat more tightly around herself, tucked her handbag back under one arm, and started toward her penthouse. Loki followed.

They walked in silence. Natasha thinking about Loki’s issues, his perversions, what it meant that she was probably going to indulge him again, the number of times she’d fucked herself to the memory of him hurting and yielding beneath her.

Whatever Loki thought of, she didn’t particularly want to know.

Eventually, they arrived at her penthouse apartment. Which wasn’t really _hers_ , technically, although for the next few days at least it was as good as. It was big, open, with arched floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, a modern kitchen, a lavish bedroom and bath.

She let them both in, led him to the living room, and took off her coat, which she draped over the sofa. The outfit she’d chosen for tonight’s dinner party was a silk cream button-up shirt tucked into a deep-purple pencil skirt with black leather panels on either hip, paired with black heeled ankle boots. With the eyeglasses, it was almost hilariously naughty teacher-esque, but it had done her just fine tonight.

Was doing her just fine now, for that matter. It was a little disconcerting to have Loki of all people staring at her with a hungry, lust-darkened expression, but it was satisfying too. His gaze lingered over her hips, her thighs where the fabric clung.

“See something you like?” she asked, going for serene and untouchable.

His eyes flicked up to hers, then higher. “I confess I’d prefer your usual hair.”

_Well, that ruined the mood._ Natasha had been finally, almost, starting to get used to the blonde; at least, her brain didn’t immediately scream _wrong_ when she looked in the mirror, as it had before.

But she only smiled and slipped off her glasses. “Still not asking for advice.”

He smiled back, not kindly, and unbuttoned his own coat and shrugged it off. It shimmered and vanished as he dropped it to the ground. His black pants followed, then his emerald shirt.

He kept eye contact the whole time, his smile dipping until only one corner of his lip was quirked arrogantly. Clearly pleased that Natasha was watching him strip, even if she doubted it was with the same want and admiration he’d shown her a moment ago.

_God, you just want someone to see you, don’t you? Someone to think you’re impressive, to think you’re worth something. Any bit of attention and you suck it up like you’re starved for it._

She wondered if he realized, even subconsciously, that he was going about it all wrong.

When he was nude, standing in front of her, in front of all her windows, with his chin up and back straight as though to say _Yes, fine, you may look if you must_ , she only wanted one thing: “Kneel.”

The command stripped his smugness as though it were just a final layer of clothing. “I beg your pardon?”

Natasha sauntered closer, her heels clicking on the wooden floor, until his bare chest was less than an arm’s length away. “I want you to kneel.”

Brow furrowed, he let out a bemused half laugh. “I don’t kneel for just anyone.”

“Oh?”

It was easy enough to reach out with one foot and sweep Loki’s legs out from under him. She was prepared for him to fight, to try to get back up, even to attempt to take her down with him, but his bottom hit the ground with a painful-sounding _thud_ that vibrated through the floorboards. He remained there, glowering up at her, but said nothing. Accepting the position, at least for now.

“Well.” She smiled. “Fortunately, I’m not just anyone.”

His lip curled, exposing one canine. “You believe that, do you?”

“So do you.” She was confident about that. For whatever reason, in Loki’s mind she had set herself apart. He couldn’t deny that now. Not when he’d come back for more.

After a moment of tense silence, during which Natasha still wasn’t confident he wouldn’t try to struggle, Loki rose off his ass and shifted to his knees at her feet. There was nothing especially deferential or submissive about his body language; in fact, he was leaning back toward his haunches rather than in a proper kneeling position.

Still, that he’d done it was… Natasha liked it. He looked good there. Far, far better than when he’d been trying to play dictator to a crowd of mortals.

“Is this more to your liking?” He was practically purring, either luxuriating in or—more likely—mocking her approval.

“It’s closer. Just a little bit…hm.”

She walked around him, rested one foot against his lower back, and pushed. He tensed, twitching as though he meant to struggle, but then allowed her to bend him over and force his head and shoulders to the floor. She moved to his side and tapped his hip with her heel.

“Lift this part up, and bend your knees until your feet are off the ground.”

Loki growled softly, like some sort of big cat, but he adjusted himself accordingly until his ass was in the air, his back sloping down to his shoulders. His toes hovered a few inches off the ground, and Natasha moved them herself until they were higher, pointed toward the ceiling.

“Better.” She came around to his front, where she squatted and rearranged his arms, laying one wrist over the other and then lowering his forehead to rest on them. Hair fell on either side of his face, blocking what little vision he might have had. “How’s that feel? Comfortable?”

He was still tense, so much so that he shook slightly. She could practically hear him grinding his teeth as he tried to work out her play. “Bearable,” he said after a pause.

She suspected that would change soon enough, even if it took longer for him to feel the strain than a normal human. Not to mention the feeling of exposure, the vulnerability that would come from having his bare ass up and his head down, his vision blocked.

“Good. I have some things to do. You’re going to stay here, just like this, until I finish and come back for you. If it gets to be too much or something’s wrong, you can call for me. Otherwise, if you move, if you do _anything_ with your magic, I will kick you out and we’ll be done. Do you understand?”

Loki breathed deeply, his shoulder blades rising and falling. He was still tense, on edge, but he only said, “How long?”

“However long it takes.”

With that, Natasha stood and left.

She didn’t go far. To the kitchen, first, which was one room over. Standing at the sink gave her a clear view into the living room and of Loki’s contorted form. She fetched a glass from the cabinet, filled it with lukewarm tap water, and stood sipping it, watching Loki’s bowed head, the top of his buttocks, the long line of his spine. Something about the smooth, pale skin there in particular called to the sadist in her. He’d look lovely with a row of needles down his back, all the way to his tailbone.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have any at the moment. Plus, they’d dabbled in masochism last time. Tonight, she decided, would be about submission, and seeing how he responded to it.

After finishing her water, she set the glass on the countertop and walked toward the back of the penthouse. He was listening to her, she knew, probably paying twice as much attention to the sounds she made to accommodate for his lack of sight. So she kept her strides deliberately languid, indifferent.

In the bedroom, she sat in the armchair in the corner, which was soft pink to match the throw pillows on the bed and more aesthetically pleasing than truly comfortable. Her feet hurt, the balls of them aching and her toes pinched, so she slipped off her shoes and stretched.

She went to the bathroom next, used the toilet, washed her hands and face. She debated changing into something more flexible but, remembering how Loki had stared at her, decided against it. After removing the knife holster on her thigh, she returned to the living room.

Loki had already started to sag, both his feet and hips lowered closer to the ground. Natasha couldn’t resist the urge to make quiet tsking sounds as she corrected him, and again he growled as though he meant to struggle—just as again he did nothing in the end, allowing her to do as she pleased.

_How much is genuine objection_ , she wondered, _and how much just a pretense?_

She went back to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of chardonnay this time, which she carried to the living room. She sat on the sofa and fished her phone from her handbag.

Time passed as she messed around online. There were more and more articles every day about the _alien refugee crisis_. Op-eds tinged with paranoia and xenophobia, public demands for government protection, desperate calls for peace and cooperation.

Eventually, she set her phone and barely touched wine aside and stood.

Loki was sagging again, his calves trembling, although as Natasha approached he promptly corrected himself. It sent such a thrill through her that her steps almost faltered.

“Still comfortable?” she asked.

After a brief silence, Loki murmured toward the floorboards, “Not entirely.”

She smirked, standing by his head. “Well, you can come out of it now.”

As he dropped his feet to the floor with a sigh, raising his head, Natasha snagged a handful of his hair, twisted it around her fingers, and tugged. He floundered momentarily, making a distressed noise in his throat, before he seemed to catch on and began to crawl after her, letting her lead him by the hair into the bedroom.

Once there, she let go and sat herself in the armchair, her legs together and her back slumped just enough to look casual but not slouched. He hesitated where she’d left him, on all fours on the white rug, before crawling closer and settling on his knees by her feet. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing visibly quickened, and his cock was hard.

She smiled approvingly, and he lifted his chin. There was something both proud and challenging about his body language.

Natasha lifted her right leg, toes wiggling. “Have you ever given a foot rub?”

The look he gave her was unimpressed, maybe a little wary, but to her surprise, he took her foot in hand without comment. His eyes on hers, he dug his thumb into her sole fleetingly, then bowed his head to kiss her ankle.

Her left foot shot out, hooked over his shoulder, and shoved. With a grunt, he pitched forward and managed to catch himself on his forearms just in time to keep from falling onto his face.

“I said rub,” she snapped. “Nothing else.”

“Of course.” His voice was mocking. “What must I have been thinking to—”

“Get back down. Feet up, ass up, head down. Now.”

Loki actually reared back, face twisting in shame and fury. Natasha couldn’t imagine why this offended him now when earlier in the living room it hadn’t. “You must be joking,” he hissed. “If you think that I—”

“Loki.” Instinct told her to keep her tone dull, so that’s what she did. Not a chastisement, not even really a command. A simple, mild statement.

Still, he sucked in a breath like she’d wounded him and glared at her with his lips tight, his eyes bright. She stared back calmly, and eventually he moved into position. He did it easily, flawlessly, his back perfectly sloped and his toes perfectly poised.

Natasha considered him, thinking. In the living room, it had been punishment for not doing what she’d asked; here for doing too much. For exceeding, maybe in his mind at least, her expectations. For trying to impress her and doing it wrong.

Settling lower in the chair, she rested her right foot on her left knee and, with exaggerated, noisy movements, bent forward and began to massage her arch.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I can do it myself. Probably better than you can, honestly.”

He said nothing as she drifted to her toes, cracking each knuckle before kneading with her thumb. Yet she could sense his displeasure, could almost feel the words he was holding back crackling in the air between them.

“Something you want to say?” Natasha asked.

“I—”

She waited, but he said nothing else. “You?”

“I will—” Loki sighed. “I will…obey you.”

Not quite the wording she had expected. She would’ve guessed he’d avoid _obey_ at all costs. _Interesting._ “Are you sure about that? Can I trust you to be good, Loki?”

On the rug, his hands curled into fists, and a shudder went down his lovely, too-flawless back. A good one, if Natasha had to guess.

_Oh_ , she thought, _I see._

Dropping her foot to the floor, she laid her hands on the armrests. “All right. Try again.”

This time, he didn’t push it, limiting himself to his hands only. It was obvious he hadn’t done this before; his touch was hesitant, his pressure so irregular it was almost random, and every time he tried something new, he gazed up into her face as though gauging her reaction.

“You’re doing really well,” she told him, more a test than a genuine compliment. “It feels good.”

He glowed at that and rubbed with more confidence, until it did actually feel good, enough that she sighed in pleasure. Loki glowed even brighter at the sound.

At Natasha’s direction, he switched to her left foot, and she propped an elbow up, rested her cheek in her palm, and studied him.

“Why me?” she said eventually.

He raised an eyebrow, but his touch didn’t falter.

“If it’s not just women,” she clarified, “and you said that yourself, then you could’ve chosen any of the other Avengers, or former Avengers, to do this with. Yet you came to me.”

“This isn’t why I came to you.”

“No?” She looked at him, but he said nothing, just stared back with that arched eyebrow. “You understand why I’m skeptical, right? You expect me to believe you started stalking me for, what, no reason in particular? And when I stabbed you and slapped you around a bit, you just…changed your mind?”

Loki’s expression seemed almost to shutter, becoming more guarded. “Is it so hard to believe?”

_Yes_ , she thought, but said, “Maybe not. Occasionally I misjudge.”

That was true, at least. And she had misjudged Loki, at least partially.

Natasha pulled her foot away and motioned him closer. He crawled the short distance between them, looking somber but intense, and when she drew him to rest his head on her thigh, his inhale was shaky. He rubbed his cheek back and forth over her skirt, and arched into her hand when she stroked his hair.

_I thought you wanted to be hurt, punished_ , she thought. _But it’s so much more complex, isn’t it?_

“Do you want to come tonight, Loki?”

He lifted his head. His hair was hanging in his face, but he didn’t seem to mind or even notice. “If you’ll allow it.”

She smiled; it felt more genuine than any smile she’d given him yet. “Good answer. Get on the bed.”

He scrambled to obey and wound up on his back in the center of the king-size mattress. His skin, Natasha noted absently, was even paler than the off-white duvet. His cock had softened at some point, although not completely, and she suspected that would be easily remedied.

“I want you on your stomach, actually,” she told him, and he looked intrigued as he flipped over. She adjusted her skirt before she followed, hiking it up a few inches above her knees so she could move more freely. “Get your knees under you.”

He did so eagerly, and from the way he shuffled his legs farther apart, tilting his hips up, she had a feeling she knew what he was expecting. Too bad she’d have to disappoint him again. There might’ve been a pair of disposable gloves tucked in a first aid kit somewhere, but she wasn’t going to pause to search for it.

Instead, she spat in her palm, reached around, and gripped his dick. It was fully hard again, although she gave it a couple of strokes just to be sure. She grinned at Loki’s low moan, how his hips gave an aborted jerk like he just couldn’t stop himself.

“That’s it. That’s exactly what I want. I’m going to keep my hand right here—” She squeezed. “—and you’re going to fuck it. Understand?”

Loki wasted no time. He was already thrusting, up on his hands and knees to give himself more leverage. “Yes. Y-yes, I—”

“And we’re not going to have a repeat of last time. You’re going to tell me when you get close, and I’ll let you know whether you can come or not.”

“Yes.” His head bobbed, and then he glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Natasha but giving her a glimpse of his profile. His flushed cheek, his already-sweaty temple, his half-lidded eye. “Yes. Nn—”

His position also gave her a lovely view of his back, reminding her what she’d thought about earlier. A dense line of needles up his spine. Skin swollen and red. Hurting.

His dick made slick sounds as it pumped in and out of her hold. That, plus his breathy cries and the fantasy of him in pain for her, did things to Natasha. Made her suddenly, vividly aware of the growing wetness in her pussy and the faint throb of her neglected clit. She couldn’t resist the urge to rock her own hips a little, but she mistimed it. She nudged forward while Loki thrust back, and suddenly she was frotting against his ass.

The first time wasn’t deliberate, but the second certainly was. On his part, at least. She couldn’t mistake it for anything else, not with the way Loki practically shoved himself backward, grinding his ass so hard against the front of Natasha’s skirt she felt the pressure against her clit. She gasped.

With a strangled groan, Loki dropped his head to his folded forearms and moved faster, wildly, putting just as much effort into crashing their bodies together as he did into plunging his cock in and out of Natasha’s fist.

And because his ass was more bony than lush, the friction felt so, so good.

She gave herself to the sensation, using her free hand to hold Loki’s hip and move him how she wanted. The noise he made into his arm was almost a whine, and his whole body trembled. She could feel his dick dribbling precome, smearing it all over her hand as he thrust.

“I—” He didn’t even sound like himself any longer. From haughty would-be dictator and trickster to a trembling, needy whore. “May I—”

“No.”

His answering moan was wounded, desperate. Natasha expected some of his fervor to subside, for him to ease himself from the edge, but he fucked harder, rougher. The bed groaned, and Loki’s back glistened with sweat. Something about it—him successfully exceeding her expectations, impressing her—made her waver from her plan to tease him mercilessly, to make him practically incoherent with need before she allowed him release.

“That’s good,” she told him. “You can come.”

He did, wailing into his arm like it was the best thing he’d ever felt. Natasha was half tempted to keep rubbing herself against him, to make herself come too, but she didn’t. That was a line she wasn’t sure she wanted to cross. When his thrusting slowed and stopped, she shuffled backward on the bed, putting distance between them.

And when his dick finally softened, she let go and gave him a minute to catch his breath, heading to the bathroom to wash her hand.

She returned thinking that he would have gotten himself back under control, maybe even would be gone already, but he was lying on his back, still naked but less sweaty and messy than he should have been. When he saw her, he sat up.

“My mouth,” he said. “My hands. My magic can do…any number of things, should you desire it. And if you’d prefer… Only give me a moment, and I can be ready again.”

Natasha didn’t like the look on his face. There was something…not quite unhinged, not yet, but not far from it either. Desperate, but not in the hot, uninhibited way it had been before. She wondered if he was dropping and, if he was, what one did with a god in subdrop.

“That’s not necessary,” she said coolly.

He stared, lips going thin and tight. “You… I followed your orders. I didn’t spend until you allowed it.”

“Yes. You did good.” She stepped closer, trying to infuse as much warmth and approval in her voice despite the survival senses going off like sirens in her head. Her knives were in the bathroom, still in their holster. Why had she taken them off? “And I’m…proud of you. You did everything—”

He moved faster than she anticipated, lurching off the bed and lunging for her. If she’d had any doubts that he’d let her best him in Munich, they were put to rest now. With his strength, his speed, the fact that she had no weapons—she was overpowered, slammed face-first into the wall with her arms pinned behind her. He seemed utterly unfazed by every wrench, kick, and headbutt she threw at him.

Then he jerked her backward against him, and she felt a cold line against her arched throat, realized he had a knife poised to slit it, and went still while she considered her options.

“Do you think,” he snarled into her hair, venom in every word, “you have tamed me?”

It was almost comforting, in a strange sort of way. This at least was a Loki she had handled before, a Loki she knew what to do with. If she couldn’t talk him down, she could at least distract him.

“You think I want to?” she said. “Tamed beasts are more trouble than they’re worth.”

He growled. “You would call the man who holds a knife to your throat a beast?”

“I could call you a lot worse.”

There was a pause. His breaths, harsh and quick, felt disconcertingly cool against her scalp. Eventually, he barked a laugh. “Indeed. Perhaps I should compliment you on your restraint.”

Then, to her shock, he let her go. She whirled around, backing against the wall, putting distance between them. He simply watched her, still nude, the knife dangling from his hand at his side. Long and silver, it had a spear-point blade and some sort of carving on its black handle.

With a flick of his hand, the knife was gone. Another gesture and Loki was dressed, back to his all-black suit. Something about his posture and the barely there downward turn to his lips struck her as wary.

Considering he’d been the one to attack, that was a real riot. She sneered at him. “That’s it? I get a knife to my throat for giving you what you need?”

“I need _nothing_ from you!” His shout echoed, rolling like his brother’s thunder through the room.

Natasha didn’t flinch. She understood, she thought. She could handle this, now that the knife was gone and he wasn’t lunging for her.

“You sought me out. Repeatedly,” she reminded him. “What does that say about you?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. In contemplation, she determined, not anger. As the silence stretched, she replayed their scene in her mind, their conversation, what little she’d said before he had reacted. Yes, she thought, she understood now.

“And you obliged me,” he said finally. “What does that say about _you_?”

Shrugging, she stepped away from the wall. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for beasts.”

And of course her mind flashed to Bruce. Who was god knew where, long since disappeared from the news and photos emerging from the Norwegian makeshift refugee camp. Who she’d missed and mourned years ago, but not in the way she knew now that she should’ve.

There must have been some trace of her thoughts on her face because Loki, still watching her warily, cocked his head to one side as though listening to a sound she couldn’t hear.

“Look,” she said. “I get it. You thought I was patronizing and insulting you and whatever else. But you ever do that again, and this—” She gestured between them, then at the room around them. “—this is done. No more obliging, no more _services_. Done.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he inclined his head. “Understood.”

“And if…you know, reciprocation is a thing you want…”

The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t even certain she could explain it.

_Because the moment my body becomes anything but a tool in this thing, I become complicit. Then this stops being about you and starts being about_ me _._

“My words were truthful,” Loki said softly, “even if my tone was heated. I need nothing from you. I would not have you accommodate me if the experience is…unsatisfactory.”

“Unsatisfactory?” Natasha might’ve laughed if she hadn’t thought he’d react badly. “You think you’re the only one who got anything out of what we did?”

He said nothing, just stared at her with intense eyes and something like longing on his face.

She hesitated a moment, asking herself _Do you really want to do this?_ Then, realizing that she actually kind of did—to see his response if nothing else—she untucked her blouse, sucked in her stomach, and slipped one hand down the waistband of her skirt and into her panties.

She wasn’t aroused any longer, but she hadn’t dried up yet either. She dipped her fingers between her labia, finding her clit and then her cunt. Loki followed her progress keenly with his gaze, and when her fingers made a soft wet sound, his lips actually parted as though he was breathless. Breathless and hungry.

She removed her hand from her skirt and held it up for his inspection, letting him see how slick it was, how turned on she’d gotten.

Inspired by how he suddenly swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, she said, “Want a taste?”

His answer was to bow his head and take four of her fingers into his mouth, leaving her thumb free to tap and stroke his jaw. His eyelids drooped low and then closed, and he grabbed her wrist gently, holding her still as he sucked, licked, and moaned like he’d never tasted anything so sweet.

When he bobbed his head, taking her fingers deeper and deeper until he gagged, Natasha thought, _Well, so much for not being aroused._ Because she began to ache anew, not as strongly as before, but enough that she sighed, pet the back of his tongue and made him gag again, and wondered if it would really be so bad to be complicit.

Or she could do this, again and again and again, for months. Giving him tastes and teases until all he could think about was how badly he wanted her cunt. Until she didn’t even have to tell him to kneel. He’d do it of his own volition, wanting to please her, hoping that this would be the time she finally gripped his hair and—

Natasha took her arm back, pulling her fingers from his mouth with a _pop_. They were both breathing hard. Loki’s cheeks were pink, his eyes unfocused. She had a feeling that if she looked she’d find a bulge in his pants.

She didn’t look. She wiped her hand on her skirt and stepped back.

“You won’t ever hold a knife to my throat again,” she told him.

He stared at her silently for a long, long moment before he shook his head. “No.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “Good. Do you want something to drink or anything before you go?”

Again, he shook his head, still looking dazed.

She could almost get addicted to this, she thought. And wasn’t that a dangerous idea?

“Okay,” she said, and turned and left.

She headed to the living room, where she retrieved her phone, her glass of wine, her gun from her handbag. When she came back to the bedroom, Loki was gone.

 

* * *

 

When her mission in Sofia was done, she went back to America, flying in through JFK. It might not have been her smartest idea, but she had an objective.

She didn’t intend to stay. A quick trip, a small retrieval, and then she would be on her way.

But by the time she heaved open the door to the West Chelsea apartment, she was tired. A fifteen-hour flight, a two-hour layover at Heathrow, and it was dark, cold, and windy outside.

_Fuck it_ , she thought. She was willing to hedge her bets that anyone interested in her was suitably distracted by Thor and the entire Norway situation anyway. She showered, crawled into bed, and slept.

And woke a few hours later to the _ping_ of a text. She was alert instantly, reaching for the table next to her bed where her cell was charging. The message was from an unknown number.

_There will be a call from this number in 1 min. Answer. B_

When her phone rang about forty seconds later, Natasha answered with a sigh. “Don’t sign your texts on a burner. We’ve talked about this.”

“One letter isn’t a signature,” Clint said. “And I know what I’m doing. Where are you?” His voice was gruff, low, coming from so close to the microphone that she could hear little wisps of his breath. Trying to be quiet, she thought.

“It is. And why?”

“Because it’s been a while. I thought you were keeping in regular touch with Cap, but then he tells me he hasn’t heard from you in weeks.”

Natasha smiled, both touched and amused. “And you worried I’d gotten myself into a mess.”

“Have you?”

“No.” She glanced around the little shoebox of a bedroom. He wouldn’t be reassured to know that she was in New York, even if she was keeping herself out of sight. “I’m in Bulgaria.”

Despite the brief silence, Clint’s skepticism came through loud and clear. “Right. You know, that you just told me on the first try makes me doubt your honesty just a bit.”

“Just a bit?”

“A lot a bit.”

Natasha was still smiling. She’d missed him.

Then Clint said, “Banner’s looking for you,” wiping her smile clean off. “Being a pain in the ass about it too.”

She sat up, loosening the covers wrapped around her waist. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she supposed, but she was. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess he got stuck as the Other Guy on some kind of, uh…gladiator planet, or something. I didn’t really ask too many questions. He seemed…stressed.”

“He always seems stressed,” she murmured absently.

“Anyway, I told him I didn’t have any of your new info. Surprisingly, he didn’t believe me. But I figured if you hadn’t already seen the news and gone looking for him…” He let that hang for a moment. “Well, there must be a reason.”

_Thus the call_ , she thought. Clint was eliminating the possibility that Natasha hadn’t hunted Bruce down because she was incapable.

“Well.” She licked her lips. “I’m not…looking for Bruce right now. Or for the foreseeable future, actually. So if you talk to him again, you can tell him that.”

During the silence that followed, she rested her shoulders against the headboard, squinting through the blinds on the bedroom window. It was still dark outside, although the lights from the city filtered through the slats.

“That mean what I think it does?” Clint said eventually.

She let out a humorless snort of a laugh. “God no.”

Another silence, this one longer and heavier. He was trying to wait her out, although he should know better by now. Natasha always won at that game. Luckily for him, she didn’t feel up to playing right now.

“I’ve made some…bad decisions lately,” she said.

It seemed simultaneously an understatement and an exaggeration. In the history of decisions she’d made with devastatingly terrible consequences, fucking Loki was nowhere near the top—so far, at least, although she conceded that it could change.

But she also knew that Clint would call it one of the stupidest fucking things she’d ever done, and with his condemnation ringing in her ears, summoning the memory of all that Loki had done—to all of them, but to him in particular—with picture-perfect clarity in her mind, she wouldn’t disagree with the assessment.

“Need help?” Clint asked.

She didn’t allow even the tiniest tinge of uncertainty to color her tone when she answered, “No.”

“You’ll let me know if that changes.” It wasn’t a request.

“I will,” she promised.

They talked more—about Nathaniel, about how all his kids and Laura missed her, about Steve and the other former Avengers—but not for much longer, and then they hung up. Natasha plugged her phone back in and nearly lay back down when the soft whine of a hinge elsewhere in the apartment sent a kick of adrenaline through her veins.

She rolled off the bed and crouched by the window. Her clothing—a gray long-sleeved shirt and red flannel shorts—wasn’t ideal, but changing would only waste time. After drawing her gun from the top drawer of the nightstand, she crept out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

Through the glass-panel door to the attached balcony, she saw a figure, and then she lowered her gun and stood when she recognized it.

Dressed in his Asgardian armor, minus the helmet, Loki was sitting on the railing, his back against the outside apartment wall and his legs stretched long atop the thin wood. His head was tipped up, his eyes staring off into the night sky. He didn’t so much as twitch when she joined him, tucking her Glock into the waistband of her shorts.

Which wasn’t worrying in and of itself, but in combination with his somber, almost melancholy expression, the faraway quality to his gaze, not to mention the deep, jagged cut on his forehead, it was enough to make Natasha frown.

“Are you okay?”

He swiveled his head toward her, blinking. He seemed genuinely confused by the question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re injured.”

The wound was thick but scabbed over, stretching diagonally from his hairline to just above his right eyebrow. It looked he’d hit his head on something hard and sharp. Or like someone had hit it for him.

His hand lifted as though he meant to touch the cut, but it didn’t get more than a few inches off his thigh before he lowered it again. “Ah, that. It’ll heal in a day, maybe two.”

Natasha waited, but he seemed to think that was sufficient, returning his gaze to the sky. She debated the merits of pushing, forcing the issue, but… _No. Different angle_ , she thought.

“So are you planning to make this a thing?” she said, crossing her arms. The wind was cold, spreading goose bumps all over her bare legs, but she refused to shiver. “You lounging on my balcony in the middle of the night?”

Again, he lowered his eyes, this time to glance around himself, his brow furrowing as though he was only just now realizing where he was. Which only deepened Natasha’s frown.

_Screw the different angle._

“What happened to you?” Her tone came out more waspish than she intended, so she rephrased, more kindly: “Are you in trouble?”

Snorting, Loki swung his legs off the railing and stood on the balcony. She never exactly forgot the difference in their heights, but now she was vividly aware of it. “Why? Do you mean to offer me assistance?”

Natasha kept her face blank. Perhaps not blank enough, however, since a moment later he let out a bark of laughter as dangerous and cruel as any weapon he might’ve wielded.

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned.” His voice was mocking, his smirk even worse.

She unfolded her arms, keeping her muscles loose, ready to reach for her gun. This was all posturing, she knew, even if she didn’t know what had set him off, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t follow through.

“Oh, this is precious.” He sneered. “You do indeed have a soft spot for beasts. Is that what I am? A replacement for the beast who abandoned you?”

Natasha was confused for half a second before the pieces slotted together. “You were eavesdropping.”

That wasn’t the response he’d wanted. The shiver of frustration that passed through his features said as much. He stalked closer, sneer deepening. “You spoke the truth before, didn’t you? You don’t want to tame me. You revel in my beastliness just as you reveled in his.”

He was towering over her now, practically spitting on her. She stayed silent, inviting him to keep going. He’d give her something to work with eventually—he always did.

“Standing beside such monstrosities, you can almost forget about the wickedness inside you. The parts of you that covet the spill of blood over your hands, that crave the taste of lies on your rotted tongue.”

He was picking up speed now, voice going low and gravely and fierce. Really getting into the idea of dramatically picking her apart and pissing her off.

_Bingo._

She made a fist and swung it as hard as she could, striking him across the cheek. That the blow didn’t send him staggering backward, that he barely seemed to feel it, only underscored that he’d expected it.

“You want me to hit you?” she said, as cold as the wind that still blew around them. “Then you ask for it. You don’t bait me.”

She punched him again, and again, until finally he did reel out of her reach, clutching his red cheek. His eyes were glittering, and something in the line of his mouth seemed both needy and lost. It called to her, although she knew it shouldn’t.

Sighing, Natasha gestured to the door. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Loki followed her in without a word, still cradling his cheek, although more delicately than before. When she told him to sit at the circular, two-person kitchen table, he obeyed and watched her rifle through the cabinets.

She didn’t have much, but her box of instant cocoa was still in date.

“Do you want hot chocolate?” she asked over her shoulder.

He tipped his head to one side and blinked at her. He’d never had hot chocolate, she realized. Didn’t even know what it was.

She made a cup while he observed silently, and then carried it to the table. “Might want to give it a few minutes to cool,” she told him as she handed it over.

So of course he immediately took a sip and grimaced when it no doubt burned. To her surprise, though, he took another after only a few seconds and then sat, licking his lips and peering down into his steaming cup with something like approval.

She wanted to smile but resisted the urge. Instead, she pointed at the scabbed wound on his forehead and said, “Seriously, should we be worried about whoever did this to you?”

He blinked. “We?”

“People. Earth. Mortals.”

With a snort, Loki went back to staring into his cocoa. “If I am ‘in trouble,’ as you said before, it is only by my own making.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smiled that toothless yet somehow still sharklike smile, although it dimmed quickly. “I warned my brother that we would not be welcome on Earth, but he remained…hopelessly optimistic, as always.”

Yeah. Natasha could see that. “So this—” She waved again toward his forehead. “—was someone with a grudge against you? Or the Asgardian people?”

“As I said.” He swallowed another sip of hot chocolate. “Trouble of my own making.”

It still wasn’t an answer, and she let him know with a pointedly arched brow that it hadn’t escaped her notice. But she wouldn’t push, now.

“Fine. And you showed up here because…?”

He shrugged one shoulder, looking away, giving her a clear view of the cheek she’d reddened. It was beginning to bruise. “I thought it unlikely I would be found here. I also thought you might provide me with a distraction.”

_Of course you did_ , Natasha thought wryly. But she couldn’t fault him for it; she’d had just as much a hand in setting a precedent in that area as he did.

“Yeah, well.” She sat back in her chair. “It’s been a long day. I’m not in the mood for that sort of distraction tonight.”

“On the contrary…” The glance Loki shot her struck her as coy, even teasing. “You’ve already provided it.”

The words, in combination with the look, made her nervous. There was a warmth to them, like they were sharing some sort of inside joke. But then he lowered his eyes to his cup, took a long drink, and any warmth in him was gone. He simply looked tired.

She felt a smattering of sympathy. Whatever had happened to him, it had left more than just the injury on his forehead.

“You need somewhere to stay?” she asked.

“No. Although I did hope to be allowed to lounge on your balcony awhile longer.”

Natasha tried to conceive of any possible harm in that but couldn’t think of anything she couldn’t handle. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to back to bed though.”

Loki nodded but said nothing as she stood and made as though to leave the kitchen.

She stopped a few steps away and turned back. “Oh, and…”

She moved quickly, leaning over the small table and slamming her fist into his uninjured cheek. His chair squeaked against the floor as he lurched backward, crying out. She hit him only once, albeit at full strength, before drawing back.

He looked poleaxed, wide-eyed and speechless as he gaped up at her.

“One more for the road,” she told him, and smiled. “Good night.”

She headed for the bedroom but, feeling his gaze still on her, glanced back before she turned the corner out of the kitchen. The shock was gone, replaced with something soft and warm.

Not for the first time, it occurred to her that she was probably in over her head with this.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

She went south next, then west, as a job fell in her lap and brought her to a cabin outside Memphis. Not hers, although, like the penthouse in Sofia, she would treat it as such for the time being.

Steve called not long after she arrived, telling her he thought there’d be good news about Bucky in the near future. She cared more because Steve did than anything else but listened attentively, finding it easy to summon happiness for him.

“You seem different,” he told her during a lull in the conversation.

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she just said, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were off before, but now you seem more… I don’t know. Yourself?”

_Huh._

“I’m finally getting my feet back under me again,” she answered.

It was only after they’d hung up that Natasha realized it was probably the truth. She’d spent too long floundering, wandering from country to country and living off the money she’d stashed away years ago. Telling herself she was staying under the radar when she was actually hiding away, steeping in the wreckage of her life.

The cabin was a homey little place, decorated in pastels and floral patterns rather than the rustic hunting lodge appearance she was expecting. She wandered the interior, familiarizing herself with the floorplan, appliances, and furniture, and then unpacked some of her clothes and personal items in the bathroom and bedroom.

She’d start tomorrow, she decided. Gathering intel, strategizing. She ate a frozen meal for dinner, made herself a cup of chamomile tea, and sat on the porch while she drank it. The closest neighbor lived a couple of miles away, so it was quiet here. The only sounds were the wind sighing through the trees and the occasional birdcall.

And also, eventually, faint footsteps coming from behind her, beyond the cabin’s propped-open front door.

Adrenaline surged but dwindled almost immediately. She recognized those footsteps.

She leaned forward in the Adirondack chair and peered into the open door just as Loki joined her on the porch, dressed in his armor.

Nearly everything about his body language read casual, from his saunter to the lazy swing of his arms. His eyes, though, were wide and wild, with a look in them that reminded her of children who had seen the destruction of everything they held dear. Except Loki wasn’t a child, and was in fact more likely to be a force of destruction himself.

She scanned him for injuries, weaknesses, but found nothing. Even his forehead wound was gone.

He stood facing her, legs apart and his hands folded behind him. It wasn’t terribly dissimilar from parade rest, which might’ve amused her if it weren’t for those eyes.

Whatever he wanted—and she could make a pretty damn educated guess—Natasha could see from his eyes that he was going to make things difficult.

“No,” she said. She leaned back in her chair, kicking her legs up to prop her feet against the white-painted porch railing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not going to keep going around and around in circles with you. I meant what I said last time. If you’re going to try to bait me to avoid asking for something—”

He laughed, and he was a really shit god of lies if he thought she couldn’t hear that it was forced. “I have no intention—”

“You do. And maybe you’re used to everyone letting you get away with things, being a prince and a god and all, but I’m not going to. You want something from me, you can at least pretend to be something other than a manipulative brat. Open your mouth and _ask_ for it.”

She brought her mug to her lips for a sip, watching him over the rim. There was a hint of color high in his cheeks, and his lips were pressed into a tight, thin line. The wild, manic light in his eyes hadn’t quite gone out.

“You did a decent job at the beginning,” Natasha said. “Telling me you were putting yourself in my…what was it? My capable hands. Not amazing, I admit, but a hell of a lot better than this. So try again.”

His glare was as sharp as a blade, daring her to offer her throat. “I could kill you without lifting a finger.”

She almost laughed. She wondered if he ever got tired of listening to himself. “But then you’d never know how wicked I can be.”

“Temptation?”

“A promise.” Natasha dropped her feet back to the ground. “Don’t you want to know what I can do to you, Loki? We haven’t even gotten started.” She cast her memory back, recalling some of his most delicious reactions. “You haven’t even eaten my cunt yet.”

He sucked in a breath, and finally some of the wildness left his eyes, replaced with something much sweeter but no less intense. She had no doubt that they were remembering the same thing now. Loki gagging himself on her fingers, spurred on by her taste.

“Ask,” she told him.

Licking his lips, he looked down at his feet and then at her. “I would…be obliged if you could…grant me some of your time. Tonight.”

Wow. It was a wonder people weren’t falling all over themselves to dominate him, she thought wryly. Followed swiftly by: _I’m going to make him beg._

“Another distraction, or are you hoping for more of my services?” she asked.

“The latter.” He cast a baleful glance to her tea. “Assuming you aren’t otherwise occupied, of course.”

Smiling, she stood and went inside. Loki trailed after her, vaguely puppyish, although she decided to keep that thought to herself.

“If you let me know when you’re coming,” she said, dumping the remainder of her tea down the kitchen sink, “I could have things ready.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I have a phone. And you have magic, don’t you? I’m sure you could think of something.”

She set the empty mug on the counter, to be dealt with later, and turned. He was right behind her, watching her intently. Eager. Impatient, even. Natasha liked eagerness, but she wasn’t about to reward impatience, especially after he’d thought he could bait her into action again.

She continued, “But since you didn’t and I was traveling most of the day…I’m going to shower.”

His expression fell, beginning to darken, so she stepped even closer, near enough they could kiss if she felt so inclined, and cupped his jaw in both hands. His eyelids fluttered, and he swayed into the touch, only to jerk away a moment later.

“I want you to wait for me in my room. Lie on the bed,” she said. “On your stomach. Arms out, legs open. Clothes off. Try to relax. Can you do that?”

He swallowed. “Yes,” he said, barely audible.

After he’d left the kitchen, Natasha went to the bathroom and showered. She kept her hair up and out of the water, washing only her body and face, rinsing away the grime of travel. Afterward, she dressed in her robe, which was red and silk and fell just above her knees. It was part of the remnants of an old mission, an old persona, but she’d grown to like the sensation of it against her skin.

It didn’t look bad, either.

In the bedroom, she found Loki exactly as she’d ordered him: lying prone in the center of the bed with his arms and legs starfished. His head was turned toward the doorway, and his gaze lingered on her bare legs as she came into view. Her own attention was drawn, much like in Bulgaria, to the long, lovely line of his spine.

She approached and settled on the mattress between his calves. He was far from relaxed, she noticed. Anticipation? Caution? Whatever thoughts had put that look in his eyes earlier?

She didn’t bother asking. He wouldn’t answer, and they would go around and around again. Instead, she stroked the back of his thighs, then his ass, which he tipped up into her hands. Not exactly subtle, but fortunately for him, that was already on the agenda.

For the moment, though, she focused a little higher, on his back, running her nails up it. His muscles jumped beneath her touch.

“What are your thoughts on needles?” she asked.

“Needles?”

“Mm-hm.” The skin was so smooth, flawless. However good his healing magic might have been, she didn’t believe he didn’t have scars. “Not tonight. I don’t have supplies with me. But another time, maybe. I’d insert needles under your skin. Leave them in while I play with you.”

She pinched the skin between his shoulder blades, both a demonstration and a tease, and he groaned and arched into her.

“I can…” He made a breathy sound, and when she glanced at his face, she found his eyes squeezed shut, his lips pressed tightly together like he was holding back even more telling noises. “I am more than capable of conjuring needles if you wish it.”

Natasha let him hear the smile when she said, “I have other plans tonight. And besides, when we play with needles, I want to mark you with mine.”

His shoulders shuddered, and he buried his face in the bed. _So easy_ , she thought. She could count on one hand the number of people she’d encountered who had seemed _made_ for submission, but Loki was among them. When he wasn’t being difficult, that was.

“I am going to hurt you, though,” she said. “How does that sound?”

“It… Acceptable.”

“Just acceptable?”

He was silent a moment, but when he responded, some of his usual bite was back in his tone. “Dear me. You’ve not even begun, and already you’re expecting commendations?”

_So much for not being difficult._ She pinched the back of his knee, making him swear and recoil, before she climbed off the bed.

She went to the closet, found the duffel she’d picked up in New York, and carried it to the foot of the bed, where she dropped it to the floor. Then she grabbed his ankles and yanked. Aside from a yelp and an aborted attempt to squirm out of her reach, Loki allowed himself to be manhandled until his lower body was hanging off the bed. Since the bedframe wasn’t tall and neither the mattress nor box springs were deep, he had to bend his knees and spread his legs wide before he could plant his feet flat on the carpet.

She adjusted his cock so it was positioned where she wanted it, pointed toward the floor between his thighs, the top of it flush against the duvet hanging off the bed. It was already partially hard, temptingly so. She spat in her hand and stroked it, getting it even harder while Loki grunted and sighed and humped haltingly into her grip, as though he didn’t mean to but couldn’t stop himself.

She glanced up to find him looking over his shoulder at her. His eyes were half-lidded and his cheeks flushed. Natasha wondered if the prickliness, the attempts to bait and manipulate her, were part of the price he paid to allow himself moments like this.

“I’m guessing you have some idea of what I’m going to do to you,” she said.

“You’re going to beat me,” he answered, and though the wording made her cringe, he at least sounded pleased about it. “Presumably with something in your bag of tricks.”

She framed his ass with her hands, digging one thumb into each cheek. “Any objections?”

“Mm. No.” He folded his arms and lay his cheek on top of them. “Only a request that you don’t hold back out of some misguided concern for my safety.”

Natasha stepped back, putting about a foot more space between them. “Oh, that won’t be a problem. So long as you remember that, when it all comes down to it, this is my fun, not yours.”

Then she drew back one hand and swung, spanking the meatiest part of his right cheek. It wasn’t the hardest she could hit, by any means—it wasn’t, in fact, anything other than a warmup, because she couldn’t in good conscience skip it, even for someone like Loki—but the _thwap_ it made, how his flesh jumped and immediately pinkened, was still satisfying as hell.

She could practically feel him gathering himself to complain, to mock the weak strike, so she spanked him again, the left cheek this time, before he had the chance to speak. Then again, and again.

Only when she finally began to put her strength behind the blows did Loki make a sound. A whimper at first, faint and pitiful, and when his ass turned a vivid, deepening red and Natasha was thrashing him so hard that her hand was on fire, he lifted his head and shouted.

She stopped, intentionally abrupt—it would leave him reeling, momentarily uncertain—and gripped his ass cheeks. They were as warm as they were flushed, although she didn’t linger, spreading them apart, baring his hole.

Loki went utterly still and silent, and for a moment Natasha did as well. She could feel how much he wanted to be touched there, could practically _taste_ the desire she was suddenly damn certain he made a point of never, ever voicing.

She bypassed his asshole completely, letting go of his cheeks, brushing her nails over his testicles instead, hearing his soft but unmistakable sigh of disappointment.

_Don’t worry_ , she thought. The sadist in her was perking up, licking its lips in anticipation. _I’ll give you something else to think about._

“Surely you haven’t finished already?” he said.

The note of boredom in his voice—not believable in the slightest—only amused her. “What did I say about goading me?”

Switching hands, giving her still-aching one a rest, she drew her arm back and aimed a slap to Loki’s scrotum. He howled, his whole body jerking. She paused, waiting to see if he’d protest, but he subsided quickly, going quiet and even raising his ass. As good as inviting her to continue.

She wasn’t inclined to refuse.

She kept her strokes lighter, with a short break between each one, allowing him a chance to howl and let out a soft, bracing grunt before she gave him another. She didn’t carry on for long, maybe a minute or so, before she sent two final slaps to the base of his cock and then stopped.

Loki was panting and trembling just a little. His elbows were bent, his hands flat on the mattress and balling the duvet in his fists.

If he thought _that_ was bad…

“Still not finished,” she said blithely. “But I’ll take any commendations you might have at this point anyway.”

Natasha reached for the duffel and pulled out her crop. It was her favorite, bought for a combination of its short length and the rounded, paddle-shaped leather tip. The size made it easier to travel with, and the narrower surface area made it sting like hell.

She also thought that Loki, with his flair for the dramatic, would appreciate the show and the noise of it.

He was chuckling unsteadily, no doubt sharpening a quip on his tongue, when she swung the crop to the side, making it slice through the air with a _wheesh_. Loki broke off with a flinch that made her laugh.

Eventually realizing he hadn’t been hit, he shot her a dark scowl over his shoulder, but she could see the embarrassment, the sheepishness, behind it, which only amused her further. She answered with a toothy, probably bloodthirsty smile.

“Still no objections?” she asked.

He licked his lips. There was a challenge in his eyes. “None. You may do your worst.”

She wouldn’t do her worst, exactly, but she could sure as hell make it hurt.

Natasha adjusted her position, accounting for the length of the crop, then drew it back and let it sing. The tip struck Loki’s right ass cheek, perfectly in the center.

His shriek might’ve been the loveliest sound she’d ever heard, in no small part because she hadn’t realized it would be so easy to reduce him to such a high-pitched, unrestrained cry. So easy and so satisfying. She couldn’t help but wonder what noises he’d make if she hadn’t warmed him up at all, had just laid into his cold ass the moment he’d bared it for her.

An experiment for later, maybe.

Like with her spanking, she alternated cheeks and gave him no opportunity to recover between hits. Red and then purpling welts bloomed on his pale ass, and gradually his shrieks quieted, becoming low, wounded wails instead. Endorphins dulling the pain, maybe, or he’d finally regained some miniscule control of himself.

Either way, it was time to push.

She stopped, letting the riding crop fall to her side. She was breathing heavily, she realized; her arm burned from the exertion. She passed the crop to her other hand.

“Grab your ass,” she told him, “one hand on either side, and hold yourself open.”

He didn’t move, keeping his forehead to the bed and his face hidden, long enough she thought he’d refuse. But then she said, “Loki,” in that tone that had worked in her favor previously. No disapproval or chastisement, just a reminder that she’d given an order and Loki hadn’t obeyed.

His hands shook as he loosened them from the duvet, brought them to his ass, and spread his cheeks. He moaned as his fingers gripped the bruising skin but said nothing. Didn’t even raise his head as he exposed his hole and gave her easier access to his balls.

Not that she needed the latter. His ass wasn’t big, and her aim was good. But it was humiliating, degrading. She’d bet that if she could see his expression now, it would be simultaneously ashamed and indignant. Loki gnashing his teeth even as his cheeks blushed prettily.

“Good boy,” she said, and spared a smile for the way his fingers tightened, making him moan in fresh pain.

Then she aimed the crop and brought it down on his balls, with nowhere near as much strength as she was capable, but he reacted like she’d shot a bolt of lightning through his veins. He jolted like his body was coming alive again, rocking the whole bed, and his yowl was inhuman, indescribable, like she was flaying the skin off his testicles rather than giving them a little smack.

_Baby_ , she thought, but there was no heat in it. It was a beautiful sound, even better than his shriek, and his hands didn’t even falter on his ass cheeks, nor did he try to twist away from her. He accepted it, even if it hurt, which was admirable enough that she rewarded him with a warm “Good.”

He didn’t seem to hear, though. He was still sucking in breath after loud, desperate breath, the muscles in his back so tense they trembled along with his arms.

She adjusted her stance and struck him again, eliciting another beautiful sound, then another, and another.

Eventually, one of his yowls dissolved into something like a sob, and she realized he was nearing tears, if he wasn’t crying already. His body trembled even harder, like it was on the verge of shattering.

Part of her wanted to push him just a little harder, to see what would happen if she wrecked him entirely. The other, perhaps saner, certainly smarter, part said she didn’t want to watch Loki struggling to piece himself back together again after he’d been reduced to his basest, most uninhibited state.

Gently, she brought the tip of the riding crop to his balls, making him flinch and let out another louder sob, and dragged it slowly higher, until it was pressed against his asshole. She let the moment hang, let Loki think of all she could do—beating his sensitive rim like she had his balls, shoving the leather in him, dry…

He groaned like he could see every filthy, excruciating possibility, and then she dropped the crop to the floor.

“Roll over,” she said. “And scoot higher so you aren’t hanging off the bed.”

While he complied, his movements slow and halting, Natasha knelt to rifle through the duffel again, and only then did she notice that she was soaked, wetness leaking from her pussy all the way to her thighs. Her clit was swollen and sensitive, tingling with every motion of her lower body.

She hadn’t even felt the onset of arousal, too focused on how Loki responded.

It frightened her sometimes, how much she loved this, craved it. For a time, long ago, she’d even thought she needed it and so had denied herself even the thought of indulging in activities like this.

_And now here you are_ , she thought. _With Loki of all people._

She couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it. Not now, at least.

She fished out a box of black disposable gloves and a bottle of water-based lubricant, and stood. Loki lay on his back, his knees bent and spread slightly. He was covering his face with both hands, his breath coming in shuddery gasps. His dick was limp. Not surprising, given the vicious red marks on his balls.

She climbed on the bed and settled between his legs, where she put the lube down and snapped a glove on each hand. Loki winced at the noise and uncovered his face to look at her. The skin around his eyes was pink, although his cheeks were dry. Close to tears, she decided, but not actually brought to them.

“Since you were so good for me,” she said, and pretended not to notice when his expression went slack with pleasure, “I’m feeling a little generous. So if you want something…”

It was a tease, but it also wasn’t. She was very aware that he wasn’t hard any longer, that he might be in enough pain that he wouldn’t get hard at all, much less be able to get off. And whatever she was, she wasn’t completely heartless. If he was done for the night, then she would shelve her plans, although it would disappoint her more than a little.

He said nothing, only stared. His eyes hadn’t lost that blissed-out look from her praise.

Natasha shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and started to peel the glove off her left hand. “Okay, well. If you’re not in the mood…”

“No!” He half sat up, reaching for her wrist, although he seemed to remember himself before he made contact.

She arched an eyebrow. “No?”

He was warring with himself; she could read it in his body language. His clenched jaw, his narrowed eyes. He pursed his lips. There was a _please_ on his tongue. She was sure of it, and suddenly she was hungry to hear it.

“Look.” Leaving her glove where it was, she shoved him gently in the sternum until he lay flat again. “If you want something…”

She picked up the lube bottle, unsnapped the cap, and drizzled some of the liquid on her fingers. He seemed enraptured by the display and even lifted his knees, bringing them closer to his chest, although the stretch must have hurt his bruised ass.

She smiled. She couldn’t help it. “If there’s something you’ve been dying for…something you’ve been dropping not-so-subtle hints about for weeks…” As she rubbed her slick fingers in wide circles around his asshole, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You can ask for it. Like I said, you’ve been so good. You deserve a reward.”

It had been a long time since she’d done this, and she didn’t remember ever being as eager as she was now. Loki’s lips parted around a breathy groan, and Natasha’s cunt actually clenched in sympathy.

“Come on,” she said, still circling and circling. “I know what you want, Loki. And you know what I want. All you have to say is ‘Please, Natasha—’”

“You told me not to call you that,” he said, then looked utterly mortified.

Had she? After a moment of consideration she recalled that, yes, she had. At the very beginning. She was astonished he remembered, but she only said, “I changed my mind.”

He recovered quickly, mortification slipping into scorn. “You think that coaxing meaningless words from my throat gives them any value?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, taking her hands away. “You’re holding your legs up, showing me your asshole, after I’ve beaten your ass and balls with a riding crop. You think refusing to beg is going to make any difference?”

He jerked his legs as though he meant to lower them, but she stopped him with one hand on the back of his right thigh and the other aiming a cruel slap to his scrotum. He convulsed with an anguished “aaah!” and hiked his legs even higher.

“Exactly,” she said, pleased. “Now. Let’s try this again. ‘Please, Natasha…’”

As extra incentive, she returned her fingers to his hole, sweeping them over the little ring of muscle, and a shiver passed through him. Slowly, warily, he repeated, “Please, Natasha…”

Natasha smiled. “Yeah?”

He dropped his head back, breaking their eye contact, and sent a snarl toward the ceiling. “Please, Natasha…put them in me.”

It wasn’t quite what she was after, but then again, she also wasn’t certain if they used words like _finger-fuck my ass_ on Asgard. Regardless of his wording, what he was asking for— _begging for_ —was clear enough.

And she gave it to him. Slipped one wet, gloved finger into his hole, felt it clutch at her as he moaned, soft but heartfelt, and hid his face in his hands again. He was so warm inside, so tight, although he stretched easily—more easily than any of the other people whose asses she’d fingered in the past. She wondered if it was magic, something about his nonmortal anatomy, or just a testament to how very, very badly he needed this.

Whatever the reason, he loosened quickly for two and even three fingers, by which point his dick was hardening again and beginning to leak. She wasn’t trying to milk him, wasn’t even really concentrating on his prostate, but somehow she seemed to be managing just that. His cock was drooling precome like a faucet, throbbing and surrendering a fresh dribble with every thrust.

He moaned weakly with each one, always followed by an even weaker “Damn you,” which sent a flutter through her groin.

As the mess pooled on his stomach, Loki arched his upper back and whined and bit down on his right forearm while his left hand covered his eyes. The sight was so wanton, so uninhibited, so far from the Loki who had stood on Natasha’s balcony and insulted her rather than just admitting what he needed.

She meant to tease longer, to try to coax more supposedly meaningless pleas from him, but she found suddenly that her patience was gone. She was still vividly aware of her own mess, her soaking cunt and her hard clit, and she didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

With three fingers still stuffed in Loki’s hole, fucking him in rough, jabbing thrusts, she grabbed his cock in her other hand and jerked him off just as roughly. He came seconds later, wailing into his forearm, a string of “uhnn uhnn uhnn” noises that made Natasha ache to follow him.

She didn’t give him a chance to recover, to enjoy the aftershocks, and she didn’t feel even slightly bad about it. His dick was still twitching, his ass still clenching, when she drew back and ripped the gloves off her hands. She grinned at his wretched, wordless cry of protest.

He found his words again soon enough, when she crawled up and lay beside him. Despite rolling immediately toward her, like a puppy eager for a reward, he was snarling and cursing: “Damn you. Damn you. Contemptible wench—”

“Is that really how you want to play this?” Natasha said mildly, facing him. “Especially with the gift I’m about to give you?”

At that, he quieted and watched with wide, greedy eyes as she lifted her top leg, bending it at the knee and resting her foot flat on the mattress. The movement parted her lower robe, baring her vulva and giving him a glimpse of how wet she was.

He sucked in air through his teeth, and although the resulting hiss sounded horrified, he certainly didn’t look it. He looked eager but reverent, swaying closer. One hand reached toward her but drew back as though he knew he wasn’t worthy.

He wasn’t, of course, but fortunately Natasha cared more about usefulness than worth.

She caught his hand and wasted no time isolating his three middle fingers from the other two, guiding them between her thighs, and shoving them into her cunt. Loki gasped like she’d punched him, although that was secondary in her awareness to the glorious ache that came with such a sudden, intense stretch.

“Curl them,” she told him, already rocking her hips, seeking an angle and rhythm to satisfy her. He tried to move with her, but she gripped his wrist hard enough she could feel the bones grinding under his skin. “I said _curl_. Like…ahh. Little more.”

Obediently, he crooked his fingers until the tips were pressed sweetly against her G-spot.

She sighed. “There. Good. That’s…good. Now stay there, like that. Don’t move.”

He echoed her sigh but only said, “Yes,” and stayed utterly, perfectly still as she rocked more purposefully, letting go of his wrist in favor of rubbing her clit as she fucked herself.

She kept her eyes on him, watching the play of emotions on his uncharacteristically open face. He looked overwhelmed, uncertain, gazing down where his hand disappeared between her legs. Afraid of messing up, maybe—at least that’s what Natasha told herself, liking the idea of Loki’s arrogance cracking under the threat of her disapproval.

Not that he had anything to worry about. He kept his fingers just where she needed them, curled and grinding against her sweet spot with every thrust of her hips. The perfect accompaniment to her own fingers massaging her clit, making circles over the swollen nub until her pussy started to throb, orgasm descending on her like a rain of gunfire.

Her thighs clamped together, trapping Loki’s hand between them, as she threw her head back and came.

It wasn’t enough. The first one rarely was, especially when she’d been dishing out pain, so she wasn’t surprised.

He seemed to read her mind, whispering, “Yes, yes, another,” without taking his eyes from her.

Scooting even closer to Loki, until there was barely any space between them, she relaxed her legs and hiked the top one over his hip. He seemed startled but didn’t protest, even when she grabbed his wrist again and pushed his fingers deeper, making full use of the length of them. They slipped past her G-spot, nearer to her cervix. Not as deep as a dick might get, but close enough.

“All right,” she said. “You can move now.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before he was complying, withdrawing his fingers only to drive them back in even deeper. The strength, the intensity of it forced a sharp “ahh” from her throat that she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed about, nor when an even deeper thrust brought an even louder moan.

“Yes,” he hissed, drawing out the _s_. “Let me hear you.”

“Shut up,” she hissed back. “You’re ruining it.”

She gripped his shoulder, his nape, and sank her fingers into his hair, yanking his head lower. The upper part of her robe had begun to fan open, making it easy work for him to bare her breast and take her nipple into his mouth. While she scraped her nails along his scalp, he sucked, hardening it to a peak against his tongue, and moaned just as loudly as she did, like he was getting just as much pleasure from this as she was.

“There. God, that’s perfect,” she said, and felt downright giddy when he whined against her tit and fucked her faster. “Your hands are…uhn, sinful.” She gentled the hand in his hair, stroking softly, approvingly. “So good. Loki.”

He was frantic now, fingering her so hard it almost hurt—but the good kind, the kind that made her want to bare her teeth and give as good as she got—and if he noticed that she was exaggerating her pleasure slightly, manipulating him with it, he didn’t care. Or maybe he knew, like she did, that the manipulation, the wicked spark of power it ignited in her, was its own even greater pleasure.

It took finagling to get a hand between their bodies and rub her clit, but she managed. Seconds later, her pussy clenched tight around his fingers. She came, letting him hear every thread of bliss in her moans and relishing the answering gratification in his.

This time, it was enough, for the moment.

When she shoved him away, he made a soft, wounded groan but didn’t protest as his fingers slipped free with an obscene squishing sound—which only made him groan again.

“If you tire of my hands…my tongue is skilled,” he said, speaking too quickly. Not the slow, careful enunciation she associated with him. “Exceptionally so. I would allow you use of it.”

_Oh, you’d_ allow _it, would you?_ She bit her lip so she didn’t laugh. “I don’t want your mouth.”

And she didn’t really. Not then, anyway, when the other option was denying him. To make her point further, she seized Loki’s hand—shining with her wetness all the way to his wrist—and brought it to her mouth, where she began to lick his fingers clean.

She wasn’t surprised when he sucked in a breath like he’d been struck, but she was when he lunged toward her, snatching his hand back so he could cover her mouth with his own. Stealing the taste of her cunt from her lips.

She allowed the kiss for a few seconds before she bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. When he recoiled, he was chuckling, although it died quickly.

“Of course,” he said. “I should have known.”

He rolled onto his back, albeit with his head still turned toward her, and just like that the sexual, almost-friendly mood was broken. They were done.

Natasha had an urge to straighten her robe, wrap it more tightly around herself, but she resisted. He would mistake it for an indication of vulnerability rather than a simple acknowledgment of the changed context. Instead, she propped her head on one arm.

They watched each other. She found herself remembering the last time she had seen him, the state of him on her balcony in New York, the wound on his forehead.

Loki swiped his tongue over his lip, whisking away the bead of blood from her bite. “You think you know me,” he said slowly. “That because you can predict my sexual responses, you have dominion over my mind.”

_Of all the things I could want dominion over_ , she thought, _your mind would not be one of them._ But she only said, carefully, “I think you only let me see what you want. And you still haven’t realized that I do the same.”

He blinked, and she could tell that she’d surprised him. She wondered if she didn’t understand him better than he knew…and if the opposite was equally true.

But she wasn’t going to ponder that too closely. “Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

He flicked his gaze over her, and she was amused to see it lingered over her breasts, her vulva, before he said, “No.”

After he left, she took another shower, even quicker than the earlier one, and dressed in a sleep shirt and shorts. She went back to the bedroom to find her tea mug on the nightstand, steaming, smelling of chamomile. _Huh_ , she thought. _That’s…something._

She wasn’t in the mood for hot tea any longer, but she drank it anyway.

 

* * *

 

It was over a week later before she noticed a new contact on her phone.

Named specifically that: _New Contact_ , with an unfamiliar number attached. She’d sent and received no calls or messages from it, she knew she’d never saved it there herself, yet there it was.

Her first thought was that her phone had been compromised. Her second, which occurred to her as she was preparing to destroy it, was frankly ridiculous. And yet, somehow, it seemed more likely.

Likely enough for a calculated risk, at least.

She opened a new text message, addressed to _New Contact_ : _You don’t really strike me as a phone sort of guy._

Then she tucked her cell away and went on with her day. Extracted and decrypted data, intercepted a weapons shipment, and destroyed the whole mess. By the time she checked her phone again, she’d gotten a reply.

_Indeed. That’s two skills of mine now of which you’ve insisted upon remaining ignorant._

Natasha almost smiled as she thumbed her response. _Still just the one actually, since I know about the phone._

She reconsidered the text, although unfortunately not until after she’d sent it. Was this really a door she wanted to open? Exchanging playful messages with _Loki_?

She left his next text— _The loss is yours_ —unanswered and deleted the whole thread.

She did, however, keep _New Contact_ in her address book and decided against renaming it.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Gathering supplies, adding a few items to her _bag of tricks_ as Loki had called it, took no time at all. A single stop at a medical supply story, a two-minute quality assurance check, and then it was simply a matter of waiting for an opportunity.

Which arrived quickly, in the form of a text from _New Contact_ that read: _Could you spare some of your time tomorrow or the subsequent evening?_

It was interesting that he’d both given her at least a day of forewarning and phrased it as a question, but she didn’t dwell too much on it. She answered, _Tomorrow after 7 p.m. is fine._ After a moment of consideration, she added, _Any requests?_

He responded instantly: _I believe you promised needles._

Lust coiled through her, a snake shaking its rattle in her gut. To Loki, she only said, _I promised nothing. I assume you can find me?_

He said, _Locating you is no challenge_ , which was ominous but pretty much on par with what she’d expected.

She was in Arizona then, not far from Tucson, having successfully apprehended a man trying to cross the border with stolen information and property. Her rented condo was cozy, furnished and decorated lavishly in a way that seemed like it was trying too hard. Not that Natasha particularly cared. The bed was large and comfortable, the walls were thick, and that was all that mattered.

A knock rang through the house barely two minutes past seven, and when she opened the door, she found Loki on the step outside. He was in that damn black suit again, but he wore a white shirt under the jacket, at least, which made him look more formal than grim.

“Are you trying to impress me?” she said as she gestured him inside. “Knocking from my doorstep instead of just showing up?”

“That depends. Are you impressed?”

He shot her a smile that was handsome, charismatic, utterly devoid of cruelty or conceit. _Not good_ , Natasha thought, although her instinct wasn’t sounding the alarm quite yet.

“We’ll see” was all she said as she slipped past him, leading him to the bedroom.

She was all ready for him, the gray duvet clean and crisp, the pillows fluffed, her supplies spread out on the nightstand. She half expected him to gravitate toward the latter, to start poking and investigating, but he only stopped just inside the doorway and watched her, his head tipped to one side.

After a short silence, he said, “Still that hair, I see.”

Even Natasha, who’d despised the color, had finally accepted it and moved on weeks ago. That apparently it still irked him, when by now he’d spent more time with her as a blonde than a redhead, amused her. “Yeah, well, I’m on a lot of people’s shit lists right now. The red is too noticeable.”

“I could fix that.” He stepped closer, squinting. “A straightforward illusion if—”

She batted away his reaching hands. “You’re not touching my hair.” For any number of reasons: because she didn’t trust magic, because she didn’t trust him with her survival, because, above all else, it was _hers_.

But he accepted the refusal without comment, although not without a tightlipped frown.

“Take these off,” she told him, flicking a finger at his clothes. “Lie down. We’ll start with you on your back. Head on the pillows.”

He unbuttoned his jacket, then paused. “And you? Will you—” He mimicked her up-and-down finger waggle. “—take these off?”

She glanced down at herself. A black dress, sleek and figure-hugging, albeit in more of a knee-length business style than revealing club wear. She hadn’t planned to wear it all night, but neither had she intended to strip immediately.

But she only raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s not for you to question.”

“Ah, of course.”

He smiled, that charming, _fake_ smile, but he did as she’d commanded. Undressing, leaving his clothes in a neat pile on the floor, and positioning himself on the bed. He watched her approach, his green eyes gleaming, and seemed genuinely pleased when she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist although it stretched her skirt uncomfortably.

His skin glowed as pale as the moon, as unblemished as it had ever been. She’d seen his backside when he’d undressed; there were no welts or lingering discoloration from her riding crop.

“How long did it take the bruises to heal, after last time?” she asked, laying a hand flat on his stomach. His ribs expanded as he inhaled. He was thinner than the first time he’d come to her, she realized.

He hesitated a second too long. “A day at most.”

She slapped him, sending his face careening to one side. “You’re lying.” She thought, _Why would you lie about something so inconsequential?_ Then it hit her. “You slowed the healing, or whatever you told me you could do before. Didn’t you?”

He kept his face turned, his eyes closed and his forehead wrinkled. His lips curled into a snarl. “You overestimate your talents.”

Natasha chuckled. “I don’t think so. I do think I _under_ estimated what a masochist you are, though.”

She leaned back, trailing her fingertips, featherlight, down his sides, and he _writhed_ , lashing out with his fists. She blocked them easily and, on a whim, bit one of his wrists in retaliation. He grunted and swore, but allowed her to arrange his hands, palms up, on either side of his head. He was looking up at her as though that little taste of pain was all he’d wanted for days.

_You do need this_ , she thought. _No matter what you tell yourself._

She found that she was genuinely curious when she asked, “Were you always like this?”

Some of the insolence bled back into his expression. He didn’t move his hands, though. “No,” he said.

“Hm.” That wasn’t entirely true, she suspected. “A recent development?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

_Yeah, definitely not true._ But she didn’t push it. It wasn’t a sniping back-and-forth that she’d had in mind tonight.

She slid off him and retrieved her supplies. Surgical gloves, alcohol wipes, corks, and of course the needles themselves: 25G for now. She sat beside his hip and lined each item within reach while he watched, rapt.

“Have you ever played with needles before?” she asked, unwrapping and donning the gloves. She made sure to snap them a bit, dramatic for Loki’s sake, and smiled when his lashes fluttered at the noise.

“No.”

She nodded. “Thought so. That’s why I’m going to start slow, show you what I’m doing.”

With a laugh, he finally moved his hands, using his arms to prop his upper body off the bed. “You think me so fragile that you must—”

She covered his mouth. “It doesn’t matter what I think, because you don’t get a say. But no. I’m doing this because I want you to see _exactly_ what I’m doing to you. So that when you’re getting yourself off tomorrow, poking at the sore spots and making it hurt again, you can picture this moment in perfect clarity.”

His nostrils flared. With her hand just under his nose, the scent of the gloves must have been overwhelming. She wondered what it smelled like to him, when he didn’t have the medical associations that people of Earth did.

When she took her hand away, he lay down again, silent.

“Good,” she said, and he sighed and let her continue. After getting fresh gloves for good measure, she tore open an alcohol pad and wiped his right pec, about an inch above and to the left of his nipple. He’d be able to see it easily there. “Getting the skin ready.”

She didn’t say _clean_ , in case he tried to protest that. It was possible gods didn’t have to worry about deadly infections and antibiotic-resistant bacteria, but she figured it didn’t hurt to be cautious. If for no other reason than Thor would probably hunt her down if she let harm come to his brother without what he would consider just cause.

When that was done, she plucked a single-use hypodermic needle out of the box and ripped open its packaging. Gripping the blue hub between her thumb and forefinger, she held it up for Loki’s perusal.

And he did seem interested in examining it, raising his head so he could get a closer look.

“Needle,” Natasha said. “With its cap still on.”

“It’s small.” His tone was disparaging. “You expect me to be able to feel that?”

“It might surprise you. But I do have a whole box of them.” She knocked said box with her elbow. “And some blades, too, if you want it to hurt more.”

Seeming mollified, he lowered his head back to the pillow, although he kept his narrowed gaze on the needle.

Natasha popped off the cap and positioned the tip above his nipple, toward the lower part of the skin she’d cleaned. “And then I’ll just push it through one section of skin—” She did so, her hand sure and practiced. “—and out the other one.”

The needle passed through smoothly, and despite a loud breath through his nose, Loki didn’t move or make a sound. He stared intently down at his pec as the skin flushed pink where it was puckered along the needle’s shaft. He didn’t look disdainful anymore, she noticed smugly.

Letting him process the sensation, she grabbed a miniature cork, which she pushed onto the tip. Aside from another sharp inhale, Loki remained silent as she jostled the piercing.

“To keep it in place,” she told him. “And to keep it from poking anything else while it’s there.”

When Loki still said nothing, still fixated on the sight of the needle in his flesh, she passed two gloved fingers over the tiny length of raised skin, feeling the metal shaft underneath. It gained her a gasp, so she took a step further. Spread her fingers, one on the hub and another on the cork, and pressed gently down before she curled them and lifted up, adding just a little stretch to the skin.

Loki let out a soft “uhhhn” that sent a punch of lust through her.

She murmured, “Another?”

Not looking away from her hand, he nodded.

So she gave him another one, right above the first. This time, he didn’t wait for her to start toying with it before he whined and breathed deep, his chest expanding and back arching. She played anyway, rolling the same two fingers back and forth over the flushed skin.

“How does it feel?”

He blinked up at her, lips parted. “I… It…”

After his complaints, to see him speechless made her smile. But she understood it, she thought. Needles were as much mental as physical stimulation. More so, sometimes. The pain was secondary to the rush of endorphins and adrenaline, as sudden and as powerful as a tide against the sand.

“I was hoping to build a ladder up your spine with these,” she admitted. “And then admire it while I fuck you with a silicone cock. How does that sound?”

His throat bobbed, and he licked his lips. “Wicked, and glorious.”

He started to flip over, but she laid a hand on his sternum to stop him.

“Hang on. I’m going to take these two out first.”

He allowed it, perhaps curious to see what would happen when the needles were removed. As she slipped each free, he made another whining cry that she felt in her cunt. She was wet already, which hardly seemed possible. They’d barely even started.

Blood beaded in the needle wounds. The safest thing to do would’ve been to bandage them immediately, but she decided not to worry about it just yet. When everything was done, she’d clean and treat them all. For now, she only swiped her thumb over the holes, gathering the blood, and then licked it off.

Loki moaned, watching her, and for the first time since she’d begun, she found her gaze drawn to his cock. It was hard, standing proudly, and it bobbed as he rocked his hips.

“It is indeed a magnificent sight.” The waver in his voice belied his attempt at an arrogant smirk. “But perhaps we could move on if you’ve no plans for it at present.”

She rolled her eyes and scooted backward. “Turn over.”

While he complied, she unzipped her dress and kicked it off, leaving her only in a black satin bra and matching panties, capable of moving more freely. Then she switched her gloves for another new set and straddled the small of his back. She’d concentrate on the upper spine, she decided, above and between his shoulder blades. If he did well with that, then next time she would extend the ladder its full length.

She snatched up an alcohol pad, but before she tore it open, she noticed that he was brushing his hair to one side, baring the back of his neck.

He almost certainly wasn’t considering the connotations, the vulnerability of the position and the area. She might have been reminded of grabbing a cat’s scruff to subdue it, but he was only acting practically. She knew that, and yet it had never struck her until now just how he must have respected her, trusted her, to allow her to do this.

He peeked over his shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” She shoved the issue from her mind and got started.

She went slow, beginning at his thoracic curve and moving upward. She kept the needles in a tight line, alternating directions for aesthetics. The pattern of hub, cork, hub, cork along Loki’s reddening, swelling skin pleased her immensely.

As did his sounds, his keening cries, muffled only slightly by the pillow he’d hidden his face in—and the way he moved, flexing his shoulders and shimmying his spine, no doubt sparking pain that just made him moan more.

She paused every few needles, bending over him and stroking his sides—firmly, so she didn’t tickle him—and saying things like “How’s that?” and “Still with me?” and even, once, “You’re taking it so well, Loki,” which made him shudder and bury his face further.

It was sweeter, gentler, more caring than she’d been with him before—than she’d been with most people she played with, for that matter—but it seemed warranted. Edge play was intense, she knew, and it could go wrong very, very fast.

When she was finished, she skimmed her fingers up the ladder, petting his sore and puckered red skin. He made a low, rumbly sound and arched into the touch. Then she angled forward and lowered herself, nearly lying flat on him, her front to his back. Only the hands she planted on either side of his biceps held her up, keeping a few inches between their bodies.

“How do you feel?”

He stirred, raising his head and twisting it to the side, although he didn’t speak for a moment. While she waited, she studied his profile, his heavy eyelids and his slack jaw. “I confess I’m…not entirely certain,” he said eventually.

That could be worrying, she thought. “Yeah?”

“If I could bottle what I am feeling…” He gave a breathy chuckle and wriggled beneath her, as though he was luxuriating in the sensation. “You could sell it and become a very rich woman.”

Maybe not so worrying, then. If he was simply floating, holding tight to the strings of subspace and letting them carry him to the stars. She smiled. “Yeah, well. I never really wanted to be rich.”

As soon as the comment was out of her mouth, it seemed too intimate, too honest. But if Loki noticed, he was too out of it to care.

“I could leave you here for a bit,” she offered. “So you can enjoy it a little more before I take them out.”

His head shot up, his eyes focusing and narrowing as he glared over his shoulder. “If you don’t carry on,” he growled, “with the rest of your delightful little scheme, I will kill you and parade your corpse across this realm.”

She blinked. “Right. Because that’s not creepy at all.”

“I swear this to you, Natasha.”

“I believe you.” She didn’t, not really, but this also wasn’t a point she wanted to argue. She’d been willing to forego her plans to give him a break, but if he didn’t want it…well, she wasn’t going to complain. “I need to grab my cock, though. Just a second.”

He shivered at that, dropping his head back down, and she climbed off, peeling away the gloves and tossing them aside. The dildo was already cleaned and on the nightstand, along with the lube, condoms, and her box of black, nonsterile gloves. She scooped all of them up and returned to Loki, who had spread his legs and tipped his hips up.

_Greedy_ , she thought. The line of needles and flushed, angry skin above his perked ass made the pose look especially obscene.

She shoved the other supplies off the bed, scattering needles, discarded caps, packages of alcohol wipes, and the like to the floor. She’d deal with it later. With the space next to Loki clear, she lay beside him, turning onto her back.

He started to lift his upper body, peering at her curiously, but stopped short with a throaty “ahhh.” An expression stole over his face that was half torture and half ecstasy. Just watching it made Natasha newly aware of how her pussy had been soaking her panties for ages now, that she might have confined the insistent throbbing of her clit to the back of her mind as she’d been inserting needles into Loki’s flesh, but it was still there, even more insistent than before.

She stripped out of her panties, her bra as well, and deposited both on the floor with the rest of the mess. Then she opened her thighs, brought the dildo between them, and eased the shorter, thicker, bulby end into her cunt. It went in easily, drawing a low groan from her lips and a slick sound from her pussy.

“What,” said Loki, sounding awed, “is that?”

“Double-ended dildo.” She laughed at his expression, the amazement and hunger as a thick purple dick seemed to rise out of her, bobbing as she fucked herself. “You didn’t have those on Asgard?”

He said nothing, only folded his arms under his chin and turned his face into them.

She liked that. The second time in this scene that she’d made him speechless. She wondered if she should go for three. “It’s a nice little trick. More satisfying than if I just strapped a dick on. This way, I’m sort of fucking myself while I also fuck you.”

His whole body trembled, but he only said, “Get on with it.”

Smirking, she took her place behind him and helped him to his hands and knees. He whimpered the entire time, each one more pitiful and lovely than the last, the change in position no doubt irritating the injured skin of his back.

Meanwhile, the dildo felt massive inside her, squeezed between the walls of her cunt, the curved bulb grinding into her G-spot with nearly every move. There was a little nub, where one side of the toy ended and the other began, that would stimulate her clit, but it wasn’t quite in place yet.

_This is going to be so, so good_ , she thought.

She donned gloves and stretched him first, lubed and fingered him like she had done the last time. He rocked with her, writhed against her knuckles with each deep plunge into his asshole. The whimpering continued, a long string of high, lewd noises that didn’t abate even when Natasha pulled her fingers free and left him empty, gaping.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, now.”

She smiled. “Bossy.”

After ripping the gloves off and rolling a condom onto the purple silicone jutting out from her—for easier cleanup—she shuffled forward on her knees and smeared the tip back and forth over his hole, which twitched and seemed to loosen even more, begging to be filled.

As she inched the toy slowly inside, Loki tossed his head back and sent his noises—no longer whimpers but loud, keening cries—to the ceiling. The new position curved his back in the most tantalizing way, making what little silver that wasn’t embedded in either his skin or a cork glint in the light like coins at the bottom of a pool.

They called to her, and although it completely invalidated all her attempts at safety, she didn’t resist. She laid one hand flat on his back, just above his shoulder blades, and drew it leisurely downward. Her fingers caught on each raised strip of flesh, and she felt the needles shifting in their swollen pockets.

Loki wailed, sounding devastated, and shoved his ass back so hard Natasha nearly lost her balance. She grabbed his hips to steady herself, and as if she’d pressed some sort of reset button, he went instantly limp. His elbows buckled beneath him, sending him face-first into the pillows.

The pose screamed submissive. His knees were still bent under him, his ass still lifted and impaled on the dildo. The curve of his spine had deepened, the downward slope of it striking her as sluttish, beseeching. He needed it, and he wanted her to give it to him.

And because Natasha wanted it too, she did. With one hand still gripping his hip, the other planted on his middle back, right where the ladder began, she gave in and fucked him with everything she had.

It was brutal, much more than she’d meant it to be. The bulb seemed suddenly even larger in her cunt, stuffing her full. First it jerked and undulated haphazardly before she found a rhythm that had the tip rolling again and again into her G-spot in perfect counterrhythm to the nub rubbing her clit.

She came easily and might’ve paused, given herself a chance to bask in the hot, pulsing bliss of her orgasm, but Loki’s wails—lower now, muffled by his arms, but still devastated, as though the pleasure was nearly crushing him—spurred her on. She thrust harder, bent forward and scraped her nails up the ladder of needles, making him quake almost violently and rattle the walls with his shout.

It ended with an “nnn” that dissolved into an “aah,” and Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if it was her name on his tongue that he refused to release.

“What was that?” she said.

But he only answered, “ _Yes_. Yes, yes,” then something in a language she didn’t know but that seemed to express the same sentiment.

“You love this, don’t you? The pain, the cock in your ass. You _crave_ it.”

“N-Natasha!” he cried, and this time she was the one shaking, the one loving it.

She wondered if he welcomed his desires with open arms, accepted them easily, felt no shame about indulging in them. She doubted it. She thought it more likely he denied them, clung desperately to his delusions of superiority and control while secretly longing for someone to bend him over their lap and shatter him like glass. No wonder he was so angry, so bitter.

“Good boy. So much better than I thought you’d be,” she told him, and he _sobbed_ , sounding tormented but beautiful. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes. Nn—yes!”

“Ask.” She was panting now, her thighs burning from thrusting so hard for so long. “Ask real nice, and I’ll let you.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking before he was chanting, “Please, please, please,” like it was the only word he knew, the only word that mattered.

She let go of his hip and took his cock in hand. It was dripping, so hard that Natasha’s clit pulsed in sympathy.

“That’s right,” she said. “Now be good and come for me.”

His orgasm was violent: his muffled scream, his lurching body, how he arched suddenly under her hand and purposely dug her fingers into his back like he needed another vicious bite of pain to usher him over the edge.

Natasha’s clit gave another throb, and although she wasn’t quite at the point of coming again, she went for it anyway. Thrusting harder, pounding into the little silicone nub and fucking herself until her body simply gave in and offered up a second orgasm that was even sweeter than the first. It left her wanting a third.

Her legs were trembling when she pulled out, sat back, and slid the dildo out of her cunt with a wet _pop_. She tossed it to the side, another thing she’d deal with later, and climbed to the headboard.

Loki’s entire body was heaving with his gasps, his face still buried in his arms, although he lifted his chin obediently when Natasha grabbed his hair and tugged. His red eyes and wet cheeks gave her pause, and her grip loosened.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay? How do you feel?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his watery gaze darted, surprisingly sharp, from her face to her breasts and then to her cunt. She knew the moment he’d read her intentions; he licked his bottom lip and raised himself onto his hands and knees with a needy “uhhn.”

“It’s fine,” she told him quickly, stroking his hair, trying to soothe him. “Shh.”

“Transcendent,” he said when he’d crawled closer, lowering himself between her thighs. There was an ugly, fresh bite mark on the back of his arm, near the elbow. He must’ve bitten himself when he’d come. He had a habit of that, she’d noticed.

“What?”

He didn’t respond. He only plunged forward and ate her like he was starving for it. His tongue was everywhere, tracing her labia, lapping the wetness from her loose cunt, flicking roughly and then—when she hissed and flinched, oversensitive—gently over her clit. He mashed his face against her, buried his nose in her mound until she thought he must’ve been suffocating, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to relish it, moaning with every suck and lick like he’d never tasted anything so good.

It made Natasha want to clench her thighs around his head, make his scalp sing with pain, grind against his face until they were both sore.

She groaned and sighed, petting his hair and telling him, “Right there. Little harder. Good, good, oh!”

As he put his neck into it, Natasha saw a glint in her peripheral vision. The ladder of needles. The wounds were swollen and an angry, deep red. A few of the corks were stained with blood. She’d been too rough while she’d been fucking him, and the sight, the idea, made her cunt flutter against Loki’s tongue.

_You’re mine_ , she thought. _Fuck your glorious purpose, your godliness, your plays for power; I’ve made you mine._

She came, twisting her hands in Loki’s hair, rocking into his mouth, moaning softly.

After the aftershocks passed, he rested his cheek on her thigh, and she went back to petting his head, putting her pleasure and approval in every stroke. She could’ve stayed there for hours, except that she needed to deal with the needles. She’d already left them too long, and done things she shouldn’t have.

“Hey,” she said, sliding her fingers down his cheeks, to his jaw, and lifting his face. His eyes were half-lidded, not quite focused. He was floating again, she thought. “I need to take the needles out. Just lie there and relax, okay? Tell me if you need anything.”

“Yes,” he said and, when she shimmied out from under him, folded his arms under his chin again while she turned her attention to his back.

She worked quickly but as gently as she could, removing the corks and then slipping the needles free. Some of the wounds had indeed bled, and clotted, when they were fucking, and they bled again now. Most only formed thick red beads, but a few dripped, making crimson rivers across his flesh.

She kept a hand in the small of his back while she twisted and stretched for the first aid supplies, and it was then that he began to shake. A faint, barely there quivering at first but, when Natasha turned to check, it worsened to full, mattress-disturbing tremors.

_Oh_ , she thought, _shit._

She abandoned the first aid kit and hurried to his side, lying next to him, resting a hand on the back of his neck. He reacted like he’d been attacked, lashing out blindly, striking her arm so hard she knew it would bruise. Then he scrambled upright and withdrew to the far corner of the bed.

His eyes were luminous, manic, and he was breathing through his mouth. He looked on the verge of panic, or worse.

“Loki,” she said warily.

He snarled. “Keep your distance, you… Wretched mortal _whore_. What is— What have you _done_? I—”

She held her hands up, making a show of giving him space. “Do you know what’s happening? I think you’re dropping. Have you ever dropped like this before?”

“I have _dropped nothing_.” Spit flew from his lips, and he gripped his own hair, still shaking, still breathing harshly.

_Oh_ , Natasha thought again, _shit._

“You would have me powerless,” he said. He was baring his teeth, eyes darting everywhere but at her. “You would see me unmanned and caged, chained to your whims, cowering under your heel like a—like a conquered beast—”

“Slow down.” She kept her tone soft, reassuring in a way that felt so unnatural her gut twisted. “Just breathe, okay? I got your adrenaline and endorphins high, and now you’re crashing. It feels awful now, but I promise it’ll pass.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. “Here. I’m going to get you some water, okay? Then we’ll—”

He launched himself across the mattress and snatched her wrist. If she thought he’d looked half-hysterical before, it was nothing compared to now. She’d seen torture victims with less abject terror in their eyes. “No. Please. Please, I won’t— You can’t— Please.”

“Please what?”

But he only shook his head and said again, “Please. Natasha, _please_.”

“I don’t know what you want. I’m sorry.” She was, genuinely. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that he would drop afterward, and now that he was, she wasn’t prepared. And she’d never seen subdrop quite like this.

Using his grip on her wrist, he yanked her toward him. For a wild, terrifying moment, she thought he meant to strike or crush her, but he only wrapped his arms around her waist and clung, panting and hiding his face between her breasts.

She returned the embrace, smoothing his hair from his forehead, murmuring, “It’s okay, Loki. You did so, so good for me. Now I just need you to breathe, okay? Nice and slow…”

Eventually, his trembling stopped, and sometime after that, he calmed enough to allow her to slip out of the bedroom and fetch a bottle of water from the kitchen.

When she returned, she found him lying on his side, facing away from her. His back was still an angry, blotchy red, blood-smeared, but as she came closer, she saw other things. A thin white scar arching over his left shoulder; another near his right hip. A large, vicious, and still-pink scar near the center of his back, as though he’d been impaled by something.

He rolled over when she climbed on the bed and took the water bottle from her. As he twisted the cap off and drank, she spied another vivid pink scar: remnants of a stab wound on his left hand.

Hers, she realized. She felt absurdly proud at the sight of it.

She turned away before he could catch her looking and waited until he’d handed her back the water before she spoke.

“Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

He looked at her. His green eyes were calm, lucid, but he glanced swiftly away. Ashamed of his reaction earlier, she thought, although of course he needn’t have been. It had been intense. She should’ve expected it.

To her surprise, he said, “I think I might. If you’ve no objections.”

She wouldn’t have offered if she did, and said as much, and he rolled away again without another word.

She waited a bit, but when it seemed he wasn’t going to turn back—was actually, judging from his breathing, falling into a doze—she cleaned up and dressed in a sleep shirt and pair of cotton panties.

Then she crawled under the sheets beside him and lay still, counting her own breaths, until finally she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

She expected him to be gone again when she woke, but he was still there. Lying beside her, still nude, under the covers now instead of on top of them as he’d been last night. He was staring at the ceiling, not blinking.

He seemed forlorn, lost. There were shadows in his eyes, as dark and fathomless as the deep, black ocean.

She turned toward him, propping herself on one elbow, and he swung his head to the side and caught her gaze.

“Hey,” she said gently. “How are you feeling?”

He winced, almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t been watching him so carefully, she might not have seen it. “Improved, from last night. I…apologize for my reaction.”

She shrugged, affecting disinterest, as though he hadn’t unnerved her almost as much as he’d probably unnerved himself. “It wasn’t your fault. It happens sometimes, when things get intense. I… Well, I should’ve expected it.”

He seemed uneasy at that, and she decided they weren’t going to dwell on it any longer. Not now, anyway.

“What about your back?” she said instead. She couldn’t see it, but she suspected the wounds were gone, melted out of view like they’d never been there.

He shrugged. Far too nonchalantly. “Healed.”

“Liar.”

He cocked his head and, when she only stared back expectantly, drawled, “Pity. I’d hoped for another of your lovely strikes across the face for that one.”

She almost laughed and then sobered. They were lying in bed, sharing a morning-after together, teasing, like friends. The thought drew back a curtain in her mind, leading her down a path she’d taken countless times since he’d first shown up outside the café in Brussels.

What was he after?

“Seriously,” she said, “why me? You could’ve hunted anyone down on Earth, but you chose me.”

“You only assume I sought no one else.”

“Did you?”

She didn’t think so and was proven right when he tightened his lips and admitted, looking hunted, “No.”

“So…why?”

For several minutes, he was silent, casting his gaze back to the ceiling. Natasha was at first determined to wait him out but, eventually, grew tired of the game and said, “Loki.” The even, matter-of-fact tone that she’d learned he responded to best.

He sighed deeply, his eyelids falling shut. “Because I did you the greatest disservice out of all your comrades. I underestimated you.”

“You underestimated all of us.”

He shot her a smile. Sharklike but toothless. “But none so much as you.”

She watched him. His sunken cheeks, his tired eyes, his matted hair. His skin, what she could see of it, was smooth again this morning. No scars, no marks. She thought about that, and then she put herself in his shoes.

His home destroyed. In front of his eyes, possibly at least in some part by his own hand even though he’d denied it. He’d been shaken by it, she thought; even he wasn’t above that. He’d come to Earth, where he had no friends. He’d come to her. Made a show of his vulnerability, his weaknesses. Put his trust in her, encouraging her to trust him in return.

“Something’s coming, isn’t it?” she said. “Something that’s got you so scared out of your mind that, as far as you’re concerned, you’re already dead. If you face it alone, that is.”

He sat up, shoving the bedsheets away, and she thought for certain he would run, just shimmer gold and teleport away like he’d done every time before. But he only inhaled and said, “And if I…said that you’re only partially mistaken?”

“Then I’d say…okay.” She sighed and sat up as well. Her game face on. She was ready. “Okay, then. Talk.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter some version of Infinity War, one in which no one's faves die and Loki doesn't side with Thanos. I'm defnitely planning to write more in this verse, but probably nothing too plotty.
> 
> Also, there's some debate about the safety of using corks with needle play, but it's how I was taught. So I went with it.


End file.
